Good Morning, Miss Australia
by Boo-82
Summary: When after six long years Mr. Gold, pawnbroker and antiquities dealer, has found back his son he's satisfied to settle in a routine where he's taking care of his now fourteen-year-old boy and his business in Storybrooke. But Baelfire worries about his Papa and decides that it's time for his father to meet some new people... by signing him up for a wake-up service. Rumbelle AU
1. Mr Scotsman

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 1: Mr. Scotsman**

* * *

Mr. Gold's pawnshop was a dusky place, one of those shops that people on their average Saturday shopping day were reluctant to set foot inside. It was a place where darkness never really left and where real antiques sat next to worthless knickknacks on the shelves like brothers, sharing a fate in which nobody would ever come to collect them.

The Venetian blinds blocked curious views through the windows and filtered the daylight to slight and harmless beams that did little more than illuminate the specks of dust on their way to the polished wooden floor. It was how Mr. Gold liked his shop – peaceful, quiet and with only the echoes of the past surrounding him in the disjointed collection of objects on display.

Taking inventory was something he didn't have to do often. Well, that wasn't entirely true. As the people in this town rarely dared to set foot inside the shop let alone buy something, once every five years actually would be overdoing things. But taking inventory also provided him with an opportunity to check up on all the objects in the shop, to see if repairs were needed or a more thorough cleaning. If so he would remove the object from its spot and with painstaking care he would take it to the workshop behind the shop. There he would restore its brilliance, whether if it were an antique gold watch or a tin whistle.

Mr. Gold repaired things, things that were delicate, complex and which required unbelievable amounts of patience. And patience he had in abundance – patience and almost as much devotion to his shop as to his son. He had an eye for honest beauty and a nose for finding it in extraordinary items, the simple they might seem at first glance.

That same talent had helped building his reputation as a notorious businessman in this town as his brown, wide-set eyes seemed to register with frightening accuracy what was important to other people – that and his unperturbed attitude towards pleas and tears.

'Hm, let's see: a 19th century bicycle. Check. An antique Wedgewood tea set. Check. Two…'

_Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg! _

A penetrating sound ripped through Gold's peaceful state of mind, harshly breaking his concentration. His fingers stiffened around the pencil in his hand and he looked up, annoyed by the intrusion but also confused that he couldn't immediately place the familiar sound. He knew it was familiar because his response to it told him so but somehow it sounded much closer than normal.

Slowly, as if someone had glued his instable feet to the ground he turned around, feeling as if his shop turned with him. But he managed to cast a gaze at the showcase behind him and belatedly realisation sunk in as he saw his cell phone perched on it. Oh, of course. His phone.

Someone was calling him. He lost interest almost immediately as he turned back around. Whomever it was they would have to wait. He was taking inventory now and he needed to concentrate.

'Two ominous dolls, one male, one female. Check. One Mickey Mouse collectible. Check. One unicorn mobile. Che…'

_Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg! _

There was that blasted phone ringing again. Gold sighed inwardly. Couldn't he even go to the shop on a quiet Sunday afternoon to take inventory without any of those ignorant townspeople calling him?

'Seven lidded mugs. Che…'

_Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg! _

Gold now cursed under his breath as the obtrusive ringing forced his concentration to slip from his grasp. Maybe he should ask Bae to install a less offensive ringtone. And make sure his son wouldn't get the chance to change all the other preferred settings like he did the last time he'd…

_BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!_

The man in the antique mahogany bed sucked in a forceful gulp of air and his heart jolted painfully as the angry sound of his alarm clock beeping yanked him from his shop. All surroundings disappeared and his eyes flew open as he tumbled into far less dreamy dimensions. A peculiar melancholy gripped his heart when he understood that he had been asleep all this time.

His body needed much more time to wake up than his mind did. For a few moments he had no choice but to let the alarm clock beep for another few seconds to collect himself before he was able to roll on his side and reach out to quiet his shrill alarm.

_Trrriiinnnggg! Trrriiinnnggg!_

Oh, for heaven's sake!

Lifting his hand from his alarm clock Gold grabbed his prehistoric – as Bae called it – flip phone from his nightstand and with furrowing eyebrows tried to remember why it was there in the first place. He never took his phone with him when he went to bed. Despite the fact that the double morning call still had his pulse racing his still foggy mind came up with no explanation however as the ringing continued endlessly.

Gold let out a small sigh and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he flipped the cell phone open.

'Private number' the caller ID on the green screen said and he narrowed his eyes in displeasure. Those call centers had some nerve calling him at… his gaze traveled to the clock in the corner of the screen – 6:05 a.m.

Well, he would make sure they would never dare to do so again.

Gold cleared his throat and finally pushed the reply button.

"You better have a very good reason for calling me at this hour, dearie."

His deep voice sounded soft, deceptively polite but there was an undercurrent of clear menace that would have any salesperson cower underneath his headset. The reaction was nothing he'd ever expected though.

"Good morning, sleepyhead! My, my, aren't you difficult to wake up? I think I had to redial your number at least four times."

A warm laugh reached Gold's ear through the speaker. It accompanied a female voice with a distinct accent on the other end of the line. Australian, he knew after a split second of listening, dumbfounded.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, not directly of course. I've just been put through to your mobile phone. But I asked the volunteer to retry a couple of times, because you're new to this and I didn't want you to get disappointed right away. That would be a pity."

It wasn't often that people could render him speechless but at the moment Gold found that he could only sit up in his bed, cell phone glued to his ear as a stream of lively words dipped in this deliciously cheerful Australian accent danced over him. He must still be asleep.

The woman on the other side of the line seemed took his silence as a cue to go on.

"You know it's quite funny if you think about it. These volunteers are like the telephone operators of old. You know, the women who would sit before a huge wall and plugged in all incoming calls manually."

Telephone operators? Why was she talking about telephone operators? His still foggy mind had trouble following her as his initial anger dispersed with the speed of the words washing over him, carried by her silvery voice.

"I'm familiar with the concept," Gold finally managed to respond and his reward was a soft, ringing laugh that went down to his toes. Yes, definitely still asleep.

"So," she continued cheerily, "how come you get up so dreadfully early?"

It seemed like a rather inappropriate question coming from a stranger and Gold lifted up an eyebrow.

"Actually you woke me up this dreadfully early," he pointed out. "If you hadn't, my alarm clock wouldn't have gone off for five minutes or so. But if you must know, I like to get up early so I can have breakfast ready for my son and go to my shop to get some things done before opening time."

"You sound like a busy man," the imperturbable woman on the other side of the line established interestedly. "What kind of shop do you own?"

He yawned behind his hand.

"A pawnshop, dearie," he condescended as he allowed himself an understated flourish. "I'm a pawnbroker and antiquities dealer."

Who was not five minutes ago dreaming about taking inventory, he recalled with an inward grumble. Times like this he wondered if he shouldn't go on vacation for a while. Take Bae with him and leave behind the dusty half-light in his shop where none of the townspeople ever came to buy anything because they couldn't possibly afford it. If it weren't for his other businesses – as Storybrooke's legal adviser and main landlord – he wouldn't be able to feed himself and Bae. He knew the townspeople saw the shop as a hobby of his, as far as the town beast had hobbies, but it was a habit of his to first and foremost introduce himself as a pawnbroker as the shop was actually dear to him.

He expected the woman on the other side of the line to respond like people always responded to his line of work: with trepidation. Which suited him well, because it had proved effective in preventing them from trying to get too close to him. But to his surprise she sighed in a way he could only interpret as wistful and his eyes widened slightly in response.

"Oh, I love shops like that. They're always filled with these precious trinkets and you can wander around for hours and get lost in all the stories they tell…"

Gold couldn't help it. His heart softened toward this strange woman. Being a bit of a student of history himself he'd found that this was exactly why he loved his shop and everything in it. There was something magical about the place where all the collective history of this little town called Storybrooke was brought together. Sometimes he felt more like the devoted curator of a museum guarding over the town's memories than a pawnbroker. It was a shame the townspeople never seemed to understand that. But this young Australian woman (he took her to be about twenty years younger than him from the sound of her voice) he didn't even know, did.

"Do you like stories?"

Gold had uttered the question before he knew it. It was not one of those inquisitive questions meant to probe a potential customer but genuine interest in the woman on the other side of the line. He was surprised to realize that he actually wanted to hear what she had to say with his mind just now clearing from sleep as he leant back against the headboard and listened to the enthusiasm in her warm voice.

"Oh yes, very much. That's probably why I'm such a bookworm." She chuckled and he couldn't prevent the amused smile to appear on his own lips in response. The Australian certainly had a contagious laugh.

"Then you'll certainly like my shop, dearie. There's a story behind each one of the objects in there."

Good grief, what was he saying? He sounded like he was trying to lure her in, or worse, like he actually cared about her opinion. Irritated with himself, Gold pinched the bridge of his noise and squeezed his eyes shut but to his surprise the woman on the phone was actually quite enamoured with the idea.

"I'm sure you could tell some gripping stories," she mused in a dreamy way that caused a slight tingle in the pit of his stomach. "I would love to hear about them. Is there an object or story in the shop you love most?"

His eyes flitted to and fro in the dusky room as he leaned against the carved headboard. "A favorite object, you mean?"

"Yes," she confirmed friendly.

Nobody had ever asked him that before, not even Bae to whose teenage mind the possibility probably hadn't even occurred. And to be honest he didn't have an immediate answer but his thoughts dutifully went back to taking inventory like they'd done so many times before in search for a reply.

"I suspect…" He hesitated. "A tiny brass piece of the three wise monkeys. But it's actually one of the very few objects in the shop without a story to tell. Perhaps the absence of a story to accompany it is why I like it. It's a blank page."

Like so many other items in his shop it had been there for ages and he'd taken a liking to the roughly casted statue that seemed to represent his position among all the Storybrooke memories that slumbered in his shop.

"And those are the most exciting ones to turn, aren't they? They remind you of the journey you're about to undertake before the story actually begins," the Australian woman agreed on a peculiar tone that closely resembled gratitude though Gold couldn't fathom what he'd said that would earn her thanks. He recognized what she meant though so he inclined his head.

"Yes."

For a long moment they were silent, as an odd peacefulness descended upon Gold. It occurred to him that now was a good time to break off the conversation but he couldn't bring himself to pull out of this conversation yet, say goodbye to her lovely voice.

A playful chuckle from the other side of the line pulled him from his reverie. "You had to think about what your favourite object is, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"You've never been asked before, right?"

His lips curled up in a melancholy smile. "Indeed."

"That's a shame," she found. "I always find the most interesting the story behind the collector himself. Can you tell me more about him? Was it you who brought the business to the States?"

For a moment Gold didn't know what she meant until it dawned to him that she was discreetly asking him about his accent, slighter than hers, but which shared with her the same Commonwealth background rather than an American.

The question instantly woke the all too familiar wariness and subconsciously he sat up in his bed. He raked his hand across his face.

"I'm sorry, but… who are you?"

There was mischievous ring to her voice when she giggled in response.

"Ah, that I can't tell you, I'm afraid. But isn't that the beauty of it all?"

Her evasive reply made some of the initial irritation return and Gold narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "I'm sorry but I'm afraid I don't understand, dearie. The beauty of what exactly?"

Perhaps the sudden coldness in his voice betrayed the change in him because she remained silent for so long that he was starting to fear that she'd hung up on him. To his surprise he found that he would actually regret it if the conversation had ended here though, which was utterly ridiculous as this was a complete stranger on the other side of the line with apparently no other goal but to interfere with his morning routine.

Finally Gold ran out of patience. "Hello?"

"You say you don't understand."

She was back and he blew out a breath he'd been subconsciously holding as he loosened his grip on his cell phone.

"Yes," he confirmed, noting the sudden wariness in her voice. Waiting for her explanation he leant back in the pillows.

"Do you mean you don't know about the wake-up service?" She almost demanded and her warm voice had turned serious all of a sudden. And did he even detect… worry?

"What wake-up service do you mean, dearie?" His voice was soft, cautious as Gold countered her question. On the other side of the line the woman with the Australian accent sighed.

"Oh my, I'm really sorry about this. I think someone who knows your number signed you up for the WB&N Social Alarm Service."

"The what?" He repeated flatly, wondering if he'd heard all right.

"The Wynken, Blynken & Nod Social Alarm Service. It's a service for which participants can sign up on the Internet. The participants are woken up by a call from a stranger instead of their alarm clocks," the Australian woman explained.

For a moment Gold was at a loss for words. He didn't know what he'd had expected but certainly not this. He'd never heard that such a service even existed and truly he had difficulty understanding why people would sign up for such a preposterous activity.

"Sometimes it happens that someone is signed up without his or her knowledge or consent," she continued tactfully. "It must be someone who knows you well; otherwise they wouldn't have gotten past the entrance procedure. Do you have any idea whom it might be?"

He tried to control the anger flaring up as his mind went over the very, very few people in town who – despite what his dream had suggested – actually had the number of his cell phone.

Mayor Mills, obviously. But she was not a likely suspect in this. This prank was far too harmless to be attributed to her.

Mother Superior. Though he'd never actually given her his number he suspected she'd acquired it by using methods that weren't as high standing as her position would lead one to expect. Not a likely suspect, either.

Mrs. Potts, his elderly housekeeper who barely knew how to operate phones with keypads let alone use the Internet.

Which left his only son. Baelfire.

Gold turned over this last possibility and suddenly he knew for sure that he had left his phone on the side table downstairs last night like he did every evening. He didn't like sleeping with the device so close to his head. Bae knew this.

Now it was his turn to sigh.

"I can think of someone."

"Your son?"

The voice on the other side of the line had softened as she guessed correctly immediately and he hesitated. Normally when a conversation got too personal to his liking he would brush people off with a polite yet prickly remark, but not this time. He didn't mind actually talking with the Australian woman and it scared him less than it should.

Gold cast a look at the wall opposite his bed behind which Bae was still sleeping in his own room, amidst an assembly of knickknacks to match his father's passion for collecting things. By the time he would wake up his father would have his breakfast ready for him, such was their routine. That was as long as Bae didn't come up with brilliant ideas to keep his father from actually doing just that.

"My son, yes. Baelfire."

There was a certain melancholy in his words as he kept staring at the wall, wondering why the boy had gone through all this trouble to sign him up for this.

"Ah," the woman on the other side of the line mumbled understandingly. If he'd broken any rule by mentioning his son's name she didn't comment on it. "Your son for whom you're about to make breakfast? Will you tell me about him?"

There was an inviting tone in her voice, one that suggested genuine interest, which was something new to him as the people here in Storybrooke preferred giving him a wide berth. It wasn't until Bae's arrival six months ago that they'd began to show some interest, as the town stood amazed that all this time the town beast apparently also was a loving father. He'd seen through their clumsy attempts at conversation though, had known that their sudden curiosity was only rooted in a hunger for information and he had quickly and decisively cut them off.

But there was something about this strange woman with her warm voice and cheerful Australian accent that made him want to answer her question in honesty. Though the years had wizened him enough to still consider his words carefully, he somehow wanted to tell her about his son, about Bae. Perhaps knowing that she was a stranger made talking to her easier than to one of the people of this town. Perhaps that was why he was more willing to accept her inviting warmth. She didn't know who he was and hadn't had time to learn to loathe him.

Gold took a swift peek at his watch. Twenty minutes. Five more minutes and he could still take a shower, get dressed and prepare breakfast. He'd just have to be a bit quicker about it than usual.

He leaned back against the headboard with his cell phone still plastered to his ear and closed his eyes.

"My boy is fourteen years old and he means everything to me. He'd been lost to me for a very long time and I can't explain how grateful I still am when every morning I hear him padding between his bedroom and the bathroom and to be able to pour him his orange juice before he goes to school. He's a beautiful boy and a straight A student. He's also a teenager and gets grumpy when I don't feed him on time or tell him to go to bed. He's been living with me for six months now and I'm overjoyed to have him back with me, to see him sitting at the bar in the kitchen doing his homework when I get home and be able to see him grow up.

"As it appeared he was the first transfer student in about fifteen years in this town, which caused quite a stir in the community. But he got accepted remarkably well, considering… his background. But there's something charming about him that makes it easy for him to blend in. He hasn't got that from me."

His voice trailed away as he forcefully pushed the image of a smiling Milah to the back of his mind. Milah who'd betrayed their son and his love for her in such a bad way. He didn't need for bitter memories this early in the morning.

The voice on the other side of the line remained silent for a long time.

Clenching his cell phone Gold waited for some reaction, any reaction but when it failed to come his eyebrows knitted together as he cursed inwardly. It was obvious that he'd scared the Australian off with such a personal monologue. He gritted his teeth. He'd been sure that she had been asking about Bae but apparently he'd understood wrong when he'd interpreted her question as genuine interest in Bae. Perhaps she'd only been asking about generic things like his age after all. Disappointment bucketed down on him like torrents of icy rain as he realized his mistake. After all these years of carefully protecting himself against the nosy gazes of other people he still hadn't learnt. How could he have thought that she would actually be interested in him? How could she possibly? They didn't even know each other.

It was time to put an end to this nonsense, go downstairs, make Bae his breakfast and ask his teenage son what on earth he'd been thinking to sign him up for this before telling him that his PlayStation would be off limits for the rest of the month. With angry movements he pushed away the covers and swung his legs over the edge, while reaching for his cane.

"How long did you have to miss him?"

The question appeared out of nothing and Gold froze. He realized that he hadn't actually hung up the phone, which was still connected to his ear. Now the warm, inviting voice had returned and to his annoyance his heart skipped a beat in happiness. Which was utterly ridiculous to begin with, since he'd only spoken with the woman on the phone for less than half an hour. Nonetheless he remained on the phone as he stood up and limped his way over to the bay window to open the curtains.

"You're still here." His voice took on the lighter, somewhat husky tone he always used when he was being cautious.

"I am," the woman confirmed unnecessarily but with a certain edge he couldn't quite pinpoint. "You were telling me about your son. I can tell that being separated from him has been hard for you. How long did you have to miss him?"

He took in a deep breath as residual pain stung his heart at the memory. Also fear for it to happen again, which he had to suppress on a daily basis for Bae's sake. The boy must be able to live and breathe without his father suffocating him.

"Six years."

His soft voice was deepened by his throaty accent growing heavier loading the simple words with a world of grief, loss and bitterness. It sounded like a confession and it felt like one because even now that he had Bae back with him he still felt shame over not having been able to prevent his disappearance.

It didn't go by unnoticed on the other side of the line. The Australian woman sucked in a sharp breath.

"Six years…" Gold heard her say in murmured repeat. "That's a very long time when you're only fourteen years old."

She sounded shocked and the corner of his mouth twitched as he looked down on the snowy front garden with a melancholy gaze. The clear sky promised a sunny winter's day.

"It is," he confirmed quietly. "When he disappeared on me he was still a schoolboy and I guess in my mind he always stayed that age when I was searching for him. Now he's a teenager and even now that he's been back with me for more than six months, I still have to adjust my expectations of him on a daily basis. It's hard sometimes, because I'm still the father he missed all these years but he has grown so much that I sometimes don't recognize him."

He closed his eyes when for the first time he voiced his biggest regret and as the words came out it felt as acceptance of the helpless feeling he'd been fighting for six months. It felt strange to put his fears and grievances to words and to a complete stranger nonetheless. But to his surprise he found that he didn't mind that it made him vulnerable to her. Strangely enough he actually felt strengthened by the woman's quiet attention on the other side of the line.

He actually blamed himself for feeling this way about Bae after finally being able to embrace him after so many years of missing him. The boy couldn't help it that he'd grown into a teenager with needs that were different from an eight-year-old schoolboy. He also couldn't help it that under influence of the pirate who'd taken him he'd adopted some of that lowlife's mannerisms, whether it was in the tilt of his head when he was being mischievous or the Irish lilt that sometimes echoed through in the way he talked. It should not have been so many years and perhaps this was what was bothering him the most; that he had failed Bae by taking so long to find him.

"Is he glad to be back with you?"

Bowing his head he let his gaze rest on the snow-covered rosebushes by the fence.

"I think so, yes. I was the one who has been taking care of him before he was… taken away from me. I was his mother and father while his mother sought more adventurous ways to live her life."

"Then you mustn't worry about it," she reassured him. "All you need is time to create some new history together and things will flow naturally from that. It sounds like you're both willing to do that and then the lost time will eventually fade to the back like a bad dream."

His mouth opened and then closed again. She was right. God, she was right. All those years he'd fought the time passing by overcome by fear that he would never see his son again. But now that he had found Bae time was actually on his side. He only had to spend it with his son. A wonderful, warm feeling washed over him while he was standing by the window, alone. The most beautiful winter morning he'd ever experienced.

He realized that this was the first time in God knows how many years that someone, anyone had said something to reassure him and he felt his withered, stomped upon heart open up toward this person on the other side of the line.

"Thank you," he whispered as his whole body started to tremble and he had to tighten his grip on his cane.

"You're welcome…" Her voice was soft, almost had a melancholy quality to it. Then she fell silent, seemingly unsure how to continue.

This time Gold waited patiently, still glowing with gratitude and in the safe knowledge that she wouldn't hang up on him.

"You know, perhaps you shouldn't call your son to account about signing you up," the Australian woman eventually mused, sounding thoughtful as she made the suggestion.

Gold smiled at the sly change of subject, moving away from the intense emotions and he was grateful for her tact as his lips curled upward. She was stepping into the breach for Bae, whom she didn't even know. Her hesitant tone betrayed that she was unsure if he would accept it to be honest, he only found it endearing. If only Bae's own mother had been so considerate about him… a stray thought he abandoned quickly.

"He's obviously worried about you," the Australian continued on a soft tone when he didn't object. "Most people who secretly enter other people into the wake-up service are often doing so out of concern for them."

She hesitated for a moment.

"I can imagine that searching for him all these years didn't leave much time to maintain relationships," she then added tentatively.

Unseen by the Australian woman his smile turned bitter as he thought about his isolated position in the Storybrooke community. "Indeed not. I'm a difficult man to love, dearie."

To his surprise his wry words met with warm laughter though. "Somehow I find that hard to believe."

He couldn't prevent his features softening at her spontaneous and disarming response as he shook his head indulgently.

"Of course you would, dearie. You don't know me."

Which wasn't entirely true anymore at this point. With the exception of his name he'd shared with her more about himself than he ever had in a lifetime with anybody else, except his boy. After thirty minutes or so she definitely knew more about him than the few facts the town of Storybrooke had to make do with. And he found that he didn't even mind. He enjoyed talking to this anonymous Australian. Though he could only hear her gentle voice there was something so very warm and bright about her that he had become reluctant to hang up and actually wished he could speak with her again. He wouldn't mind to be woken by her voice tomorrow.

Limping back he cast a look at his alarm clock. Thirty minutes indeed. He really had to get going now.

"I'm sorry, dearie, but…"

"Your son is waiting. I know," she offered understandingly. "I have to go too."

He quickly did the math. "So, you're not in Australia then?"

A sweet, tinkling laugh washed over him through the phone and he closed his eyes. Oh, God. Already he wondered how he would manage to get through the day without hearing that wonderful sound.

"Are you in Scotland?" She asked by way of reply and he smirked approvingly.

"Fair enough. So, how does this work from now on? Are you going to sing me a lullaby tonight as well? Or are you going to call me again tomorrow morning?"

He fiercely prayed he'd managed to keep the hope from his voice but his heart sank when she didn't laugh again.

"No, no lullabies. Actually, the idea behind this is that you're called to be woken up by someone else every day."

She sounded a bit dejected at the prospect but he didn't immediately register because disappointment settled in as he realized what this meant.

"So, you have conversations like this with all the people you call to wake?"

His voice sounded resentful, almost accusatory as he was forced to face the truth about the scheme. It hurt. And it hurt more than it should. After all here he was laying a claim on a complete stranger he'd spoken to for – about 35 minutes now.

"Actually, no. You're the first."

Gold froze when her words cut through his anger. Her voice sounded so small that he barely caught what she had said but as soon as the meaning of her words sunk in he stilled. And his anger was dispersed by another tingle in his stomach while an intense relief as ridiculous as his anger took over.

"My apologies," he whispered and closed his eyes as the Australian on the other side of the line let out a long breath. "Will we ever speak again?"

The Australian hesitated. "Possibly. I could request to be put on your rotation list again. If I ask for it three times they will ask you if they can give me your number."

"I can give you my number now," he said tonelessly. The whole scheme sounded horribly time-consuming.

"If you'll do that the computer will break off this conversation immediately. It recognizes telephone numbers and addresses, both postal and email. Those are all measures to protect your privacy. You might regret it afterwards."

Gold very much doubted this but couldn't do much more than sigh. His ear had started to burn and now he really needed to hurry up or Bae would be late for school.

"There's nothing for it then, I suppose. Apparently fate will decide when we speak again."

He hated leaving things to fate.

"Will you permit me one request though?"

If he had no choice but to accept these ridiculous terms than at least he could try to bend what little he could influence to his own will.

"Of course," she acquiesced immediately, drawing another smile to his lips.

"If you'd decide to ask to be put on my… rotation list the next time I want to hear more about you."

She chuckled at this. "Deal."

"Be careful what you're saying, dearie, because no one has ever broken a deal with me," he jested and Gold basked in that delicious laugh for one last time before she responded, "I think I'll take my chances. Bye, Mr Scotsman. I hope you'll have a good day."

It already is, Gold thought but kept this to himself. Instead he said, "Goodbye Miss Australia," which earned him an amused giggle, "wishing you a very nice day too."

* * *

Fifteen minutes later he arrived downstairs, immaculate as always in one of his well-cut suits with a dark blue shirt this time. He didn't wear blue much, actually preferred purples, deep reds and blacks, but today the blue shirt had been the only one to catch his eye before he hastily grabbed it from the hanger. The only roguish part about his conservative appearance was his half-long brown hair streaked with silvery grey that the old-fashioned barber here in town was just dying to cut off.

Bae was already sitting at the bar, spooning up a bowl of cereal with as much enthusiasm as a lion eating spinach. He had his elbow propped up on the bar and was reading his father's newspaper, his dark curls hiding his delicate features from view.

Gold smiled. His son had only been here for half a year and apparently he'd already spoilt the child rotten with Scottish breakfasts to lure him to the kitchen on time each morning.

The soft thud of his cane accompanied him as he went over to the fridge and took out a bottle of orange juice. Silently he poured the juice into the empty glass beside his son's bowl.

He was surprised to see that the teenager had put the glass out but apparently had waited for his father to fill it for him. He wasn't a lazy boy so perhaps Bae cherished the ritual as much as the breakfast itself, he thought as he filled another bowl with cereal and milk and sat down. The realization warmed his heart and it was with mild amusement that he took in his son's disgruntled features. The Australian was right. Even within half a year they were already creating history together.

He missed her voice already.

Gold didn't notice when Bae looked up and studied him from underneath his eyelashes before murmuring, "The site said wake-up service. Not whole day conversation service."

He swallowed and pretended not to have heard this. "Did you say something, Bae?"

He kept his voice absent-minded to not scare off the teenager and he felt Bae's searching gaze on him before his son stood to put the bowl in the dishwasher.

"No, nothing."

"All right then. Get your coat and I'll finish up here."

The boy nodded and dashed out of the kitchen but froze in the doorway when his father's voice called him back.

"Oh, Bae. Just one thing: when you signed me up for this anonymous wake-up service did you also commit me to calling up other participants myself?"

To Gold's satisfaction the boy's eyes grew wide and his face got red as a beetroot.

Bae opened and closed his mouth but when the angry reprimand failed to come he mumbled, "No, I unchecked that option," and fled into the hallway.

Mr. Gold shook his head and smiled. It promised to be a good day indeed.

* * *

**A/N:** _Another Rumbelle story is flowing from my pen and it takes the form of Good Morning, Miss Australia. I remembered reading about this social alarm service where people can sign up to wake up strangers and it put the idea for this story in my head (perhaps I was somewhat inspired by Sleepless In Seattle too..)_

_This is an AU where Mr. Gold lives in a non-magical Storybrooke. He has lived and built a life there since the early days of his search for Baelfire. The next chapter will review where the mysterious Miss Australia was calling from..._

_The brass statue of the three wise monkeys is actually Robert Carlyle's favorite object in the shop. I thought it a nice touch to incorporate in the story._

_I would like to thank my beta Delintthedarkone who's actually bouncing in anticipation for the next chapter! She's a wonderful artist who creates marvelous Rumbelle fan art. Go check out her blog at Tumblr - you won't be disappointed!_

_I hope you'll enjoy reading and feel free to review!_


	2. Miss Australia

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 2: Miss Australia**

* * *

"Belle? Belle!"

Her father's voice calling her slowly sunk in, while the young woman stared into the distance, her cell phone still hovering next to her ear. In her mind there seemed only room for a stranger's voice echoing her words of goodbye with a regretful, 'Goodbye Miss Australia, wishing you a very nice day too.'

Belle stood rooted to the spot in her small bedroom, a fierce blush coloring her cheeks, as she tried to wrap her mind around what just had happened.

When she'd received a message by email yesterday from the Wynken, Blynken and Nod Wake-Up Service to call in at 5.55 A.M. she'd inwardly groaned, but had complied nonetheless. Stepping out of the shower cell in the modest, two-bedroom house that had been home to her family since they'd arrived from Australia, she'd wondered what this person she was going to call was doing for a living that he or she got up so early. It was still dark outside as she blow-dried her hair in the kitchen, which was furthest away from her father's bedroom so she wouldn't wake him at this untimely hour. Then she quietly dressed in her room and waited till it was time to call in.

The stranger on the other side of the line had been the latest in a long row of participants she'd woken up since she'd started participating in the WB&N Wake-Up Service, but she'd never been _this_ deeply affected by a conversation before.

When the stranger hadn't answered his phone after the third try, the volunteer on the switchboard had warned her that the next attempt would be the last. Belle had murmured 'of course', feeling a bit sorry for the new participant on the other side of the line. Three attempts was regulatory, but she persuaded the operator for one last try. Perhaps the person on the other side of the line had displaced his or her cell phone, or had left it on silent. Or perhaps the participant simply slept through the sound of the phone ringing, unaccustomed to be woken up by it.

When at the second ring a grouchy man finally picked up the phone she'd actually felt relieved, ignoring her blood running cold at the withering greeting uttered with the hint of a Scottish brogue. Being used to waking grumpy participants of the program, she'd simply carried on, knowing that they would come around eventually. And this Scot did too.

His terseness gradually disappeared and she couldn't help but feel drawn to his deep, soft voice and his formal, but adorably confused replies as he stayed on the line with her. And for the first time in the four months she'd done this, encouraged by her friend Ariel, she actually regretted when the conversation with the stranger on the other side of the line ended.

Ariel (or "Ary", as she wanted to be called, because "The Walt Disney Company had condemned her to a lifetime of lame jokes about fish out of water with her name and fiery hair colour") was an archivist and colleague of Belle's in the Portland Public Library where Belle worked as a librarian. They'd met at UVM, the only four years in her life Belle had lived separate from her father. It was the bubbly redhead who had encouraged the dreamy bookworm to be more outgoing and actually meet people instead of reading about them in books. Belle had agreed but stipulated that it would be on her own terms. With a meaningful look Ary had taken a sip from her coffee and had said no more.

When Belle told her two days later what she'd signed up for Ary had lifted her eyebrows but knowing that Belle never went for the obvious like going out like a normal person her age she'd refrained from commenting on it. Over the past few months she'd woken up many people, men and women, with friendly conversation. If the number of proposals were something to go by – three since last week – she was pretty good at it, even though grumpiness and melancholy outweighed by far the affection of the ones proposing to her.

Almost every day she had another amusing story to share with Ary, whether it would be the teenager who taught her to say 'Where's the bathroom?' in Klingon, the old woman who kept talking about her forty-eight cats or the cell phone salesman who apparently had only joined the service to lure participants to his website. Belle's new early morning hobby had actually become a source of amusement for them over a cup of Starbucks coffee.

Not with this man though. No, him she'd taken to her heart when he'd told her about his shop and had asked her if she liked stories on an almost hopeful tone as if he'd recognized a kindred soul. Belle knew she had.

And then came the moment when she understood that the man with the fascinating voice didn't have the faintest idea why she was calling him. As the pieces of the puzzle of his wariness finally fell into place she'd immediately known that it had been his son who'd signed the man up for this. Though he hadn't explicitly said it, subconsciously she'd sensed that it was just the two of them, because of which the son, Baelfire he'd called him – such an unusual name – had felt the need to have his father meet other people. And in a typical teenage way he'd chosen something to his own liking, not necessarily the first option his father would have considered for himself.

It had happened a few times before, that she'd called someone who had been surprised by her phone call but most of the time those people had responded with anger or had hung up immediately. Those times she'd felt like a telemarketing salesperson being brushed off and she'd seriously considered quitting the whole thing. This man however had responded differently. Instead of trying to brush her off he'd actually opened up to her about his son, about his love for him and the most astonishing of all the insecurity he felt after six years of separation from his son. His honesty and trust had touched her as deeply as what he'd told her. She didn't quite understand how the separation had come to be and she'd noticed that he'd chosen his words very carefully but she'd felt that his grief was real – and very understandable. Quietly she'd listened, captivated by his voice and her reflex reaction had been to provide him with the reassurance he so clearly needed. When his whispered words of gratitude had reached her ear she'd actually shivered.

The words 'Goodbye Miss Australia, wishing you a very nice day too,' still sang through her head long after the volunteer had taken over the conversation. Absent-mindedly, the woman had asked Belle the standard question if she would be interested in being put back on this participant's rotation list. Up until then Belle had only asked to be put on someone's rotation list again a few times, remembering her reason for signing up – to find someone she could make a real connection with. This time however Belle had accepted with such vigor that even the volunteer temporarily woke from her stupor and remarked, "Wow, that must have been a nice conversation," before disconnecting.

"Belle? Belle, what's taking you so long?"

A knock on her door and the sound of her father's agitated voice behind it made her turn around, and finally she lowered the long silent cell phone.

"Ehm, yes, Dad. I'm coming," she called back hastily as she unnecessarily smoothed out her woollen, plaid skirt and cast a look into the mirror on her door. Hair and make-up were as they supposed to be. It was a good thing she always got ready before calling in otherwise she had had no choice now but to go to work in her nightgown. Not that Gaston, the library's Head of Security, would mind. No, the less clothing she wore the better he liked it. Creep.

Hastily she shot her feet in a pair of high-heeled, red patent leather pumps and swung the door open.

"Good morning, Dad." She bent over and gave the weary looking, portly man a light kiss on the cheek.

"Belle?" Moe inclined his head as he watched his daughter grab her bag. "Are you all right?" It was not like Belle to miss breakfast with her father before they would go to work: she to the library and he to the flower stand opposite it. That's how it had been since she'd graduated from university and began to work as a librarian in the city where she grew up.

"Yes, I'm sorry, Dad." Belle cast him a cheerful smile. "I'm afraid this conversation was a bit longer than normal."

Her father knew about her endeavor though he didn't quite understand wherein _exactly_ lay the fun of calling up complete strangers to wake them up. But as long as it remained safe it was fine with him. He shook his head and shrugged into his warm coat before he put up his cap. It promised to be a cold, snowy day, and a difficult day for the florist in his flower stand. Thankfully, this time of year he only sold hardy flowers like bulbs and roses.

Moe cast a sideways look at Belle who hastily put on her coat and took a banana from cramped the kitchen-sink unit in their modest two-bedroom house, which lay in an inconspicuous area in the outskirts of Portland, Maine.

"I still don't understand why you won't wear more sensible shoes for this time of year, Belle," Moe remarked as he opened the door. To his surprise Belle looked at him with an odd smile on her face.

"How else can I be Miss Australia?"

As so often happened an expression of confusion passed over Moe's features while he looked at her. Once again, she'd utterly lost him. When she offered no further explanation he grinned sheepishly and shook his head, knowing that he would probably never completely understand his daughter.

It was time to go to his flower stall, where the flowers waited for him. And flowers he would always understand.

* * *

"And? How was your wakie-wakie this morning?"

From above the edge of a carton Starbucks cup a pair of curious hazel eyes studied Belle who raised her eyebrows and took a sip from her own caramel latte.

"Different."

"Different how? Aren't they all?"

Belle could sense that her reply had piqued Ary's interest and to her horror she blushed.

Immediately Ary's eyes widened. "Oh, different that way! Tell me!"

Belle groaned and ducked her head so far that her hair fell into her face. When they'd gone for their daily cup of coffee she'd resolved to be casual about this because, really there wasn't much to tell that could possibly be of interest to the bouncy archivist, but she'd blown it with the first word she'd said.

She groaned. "Really Ary, don't take this the wrong way. This is just me being awkward."

"Oh no," Ary wagged the small plastic fork she'd received with her muffin before Belle's nose. "I will be the judge of that! After all, I'm the one who told you to go out and meet other people. Now tell me this instant."

Belle's eyes followed the plastic fork. "Ary, you know that you're waving with a fork, don't you?" She said dryly and it had the desired effect.

With a distasteful wrinkling of her nose Ary put down the fork and instead leaned on her folded hands, giving Belle an expectant look.

Belle sighed. "Well, he – "

"Aha, a he! I knew it!" Ary declared triumphantly, cutting her off and Belle sent her friend a mock exasperated look.

"Do you want to hear this or not? Really, with that attitude I don't understand how you and Eric have managed to be develop a stable relationship such as you have."

Ary's fiancé was a handsome dark-haired man who worked at a cannery in this small coastal town called Storybrooke. His uncle owned the company and he was busy familiarizing himself with the company to take over management one day.

"True love, Belle. He doesn't mind my enthusiasm," Ary smiled sweetly as she subconsciously picked up the fork again, pointing it at Belle once more. "But you were saying…"

"Well, it appeared that he was one of those people who didn't know why I called," Belle ventured cautiously and took another sip of her caramel flavored coffee as Ary looked at her with immediate understanding and sympathy.

"Signed up by someone else again?"

The archivist had heard enough of Belle's stories to immediately draw the right conclusion.

Belle nodded, plastic spoon still in her mouth. "His son."

The archivist let this information sink in and Belle could see that she turned over several possibilities in her clever mind.

"His son," Ary repeated finally as she leaned back in her chair. "Oh my God, he's eighty years old and his son feels guilty for not paying him enough visits in the care home. I would go for the son, Belle."

Belle rewarded her friend's sceptical expression with a mock glare. "His son is fourteen, Ary and please, stop pointing that fork at me."

Reluctantly the redhead put down the plastic device and cupped her chin.

"He told you that?" She mused thoughtfully. "So, he didn't hang up on you. That's different indeed. Was he angry with you?"

"Obviously," Belle nodded. "I can remember him telling me that I had to have a very good reason for calling him at this hour, _'Dearie'_!"

She emphasized the last word, echoing Mr. Scotman's intonation and Ary raised her eyebrows. It was quite unusual to hear the word being used as part of what was basically a reprimand.

"Actually, I had trouble waking him up at first," the librarian added. "I had to ask the volunteer to redial four times before he finally answered the phone."

Belle rolled her eyes meaningfully and the two friends shared a mischievous grin.

"So… what won him over then?"

Belle licked her spoon as she gave the question a few moments of thought.

"Actually, I don't really know. I guess at first I kind of took him by surprise." She was still a bit unsure about it. "The first ten minutes or so he just went along with the conversation, while he was waking up. I said something silly about telephone operators and asked him why he got up so early. He said that he liked to get up early to make his son breakfast and we talked a bit about his work. He owns a store."

That was possibly the dullest, least appealing way of describing the magical moment in which they had connected over their shared love for historical artefacts, but somehow she couldn't bring herself to tell her friend about it. It felt as if she would taint the delicate memory if she laid it bare to Ary's scrutiny.

Fortunately, Ary focused on something else she'd said.

"Telephone operators," she repeated her friend's words tonelessly. "You started to talk to him about telephone operators. I'm sure that was a real icebreaker."

Belle shot her a look.

"Anyway," Ary shook her head, "when he realized that his son must have signed him up for the wake-up service he didn't get angry like I had expected, but instead he told me about him. About having to miss him for… a while, about how it is to raise a teenager and how much he loves him…"

Ary followed Belle as she took another sip from her coffee and caught the slight, positively dreamy smile that passed over Belle's lips before they disappeared behind the whipped cream. Her hazel eyes widened.

"Oh my God… You like him. You really like him."

Belle's head jerked up and a startled cough ripped her chest.

"Wha –, no!" She spluttered with difficulty as the coffee went down the wrong way. Through the tears springing in her eyes she saw the paper napkin Ary kindly held out to her and took it.

"Yes, you do," Ary replied calmly but with a twinkle in her eyes. "You are a very sad woman who falls in love with someone you've only spoken to over the phone for about thirty minutes and most likely will never speak with ever again."

For a moment it seemed as if Belle would be objecting fiercely, denying all accusations but then she put her hands before her face and groaned. Ary was right. Why else had his voice been inside her head for the entire morning, calling her Miss Australia and telling her about his son? And why else did she feel this tingling feeling in her stomach as her mind played their conversation over and over and over again?

"Really," Ary found as she took another satisfied sip from her coffee and discovered that it was empty, "he must be quite something to make such an impression on you over the phone at seven in the morning. I can't think of another person that's more difficult to impress than you."

"Six A.M.," Belle whispered, which gained her an almost frightened look of disbelief from the archivist. "And there is a possibility that I'll speak with him again. I asked the volunteer operator to put me on his rotation list again."

At seeing the triumphant grin appearing on Ary's bright face Belle immediately regretted telling her. But to her relief the archivist put her hand on hers and said with a warm smile, "Good for you, Belle. I always knew you had a bit of the adventurer inside you. But will you be careful? There could be a real beast lurking behind this sleepy man who cares so much for his son."

Belle thought back of his first words to her that had been dripping with menace and his remark 'I'm a difficult man to love, dearie'. She shivered but nonetheless put on a brave smile.

"I will."

Ary nodded approvingly and stood up. Quietly, Belle followed her example.

"So, now we'll just have to wait until your Sleepless In Seattle turns up again. And do not give me that look, Belle because you are going to tell me when you speak with him again."

"Sleepless In Seattle?" The librarian shot her friend an exasperated look.

"You know, the movie," Ary said as she shrugged on her coat. "When Tom Hanks is this widower with a kid and Meg Ryan hears him on the radio and because he must remain anonymous he's Sleepless – "

"I know the film, Ary, but if you think that I'm going to stalk this stranger halfway across the country…" Belle interrupted her with a shake of her head. She'd already tentatively wondered where he could live and somehow she had the idea that it was a village or a small town, which might as well be located in the Mississippi bayous. There was no telling with his accent.

"She wasn't stalking him, Bells. She was just trying to find out if she'd heard her True Love on the radio."

Now it was Belle's turn to wrinkle her nose. "Just like you were 'watching' Eric you mean?" She made two imaginary brackets in the air. "I believe it was me who eventually had to push you toward him."

Ary grimaced but couldn't deny the facts. Belle had made her stumble toward Eric when he was cleaning fish. Sometimes she thought she could still smell the stench of fish in the clothes she wore that day and which had been pressed against his gleaming apron when he'd lovingly wrapped his arms around her.

"Have you already thought of a nickname?" Ary wrapped her scarf around her neck.

"For whom?" Belle was still musing over Mr Scotsman's place of residence.

"For your Sleepless!" Ary rolled her eyes at her absent-minded friend. "When you speak with him again you can't continue calling him… what did you call him this morning?"

Belle smiled sheepishly and decided it no harm to tell Ary a little bit more. "He called me Miss Australia."

Though Belle had started with calling him Mr. Scotsman and he'd simply returned the favor it felt nice, if not more intimate that they would have nicknames for one another.

The two of them walked outside, ducking into their coats as soon as the first gust of icy wind whirled around them. November in Maine. It was waiting for the first snow.

Ary thought Belle's confession over. Even after all these years that she lived in the States Belle's Australian accent was hard to miss. "That's… actually quite funny. I was going to say lame, but actually I like it. So, what do you call him?"

Belle smiled enigmatically as the entered the uneventful building where the public library was housed. "Not telling you. But only because you don't have to know everything, not because it's something kinky."

"Hmm, Belle and kinky, sounds good to me." Piped up a voice behind them. "Speaking of kinky, when will we see those so called leather pants you supposedly own?"

Belle's gaze darkened and she cursed inwardly. Why had she had to say something like that while passing Gaston? Truth was she hadn't been paying attention to his presence in the hallway and now she wouldn't hear the end of it. Gaston was the head of security of the Portland Public Library and for some reason unfathomable this he-man's eye had fallen on the petite brunette. He was interested less in the books she adored than the gym next to the library. But it didn't stop him from forcing himself on the dreamy bookworm even though she'd made it clear to him from the start that she didn't reciprocate the sentiment. She couldn't help but think that his obtrusiveness was in such sharp contrast with Mr. Scotman's quiet reserve.

Belle opened her mouth to retort but Ary got ahead of her. "Leave her alone, Gaston. When will it finally get into that thick head of yours that she doesn't like you?"

The tall, broad-shouldered man cast a disparaging look at the archivist. Underneath the suit jacket his muscles bulged out as he shook his dark, luscious mane.

"Nonsense, she's just shy with me. Perhaps if you would stop sticking your little nose in all those books and take a look at what's right in front of you…"

Suddenly the head of security blocked Belle's path and she had no choice but to look up.

He smirked. "Then you wouldn't be so shy anymore." He lowered his voice to a velvety tone that was clearly meant to mollify her but it only made Belle's skin crawl.

Without a word, but glaring icily Belle simply stepped past the hulk of manly smugness and signalled Ary to follow her.

When she'd almost reached the door, Gaston called after her, "Don't forget about those leather pants you promised me, Belle baby."

"Don't call me baby," Belle grumbled back and turned her back on him.

When they were out of earshot she sighed. "If any man should be called a beast, it should be him."

Ary looked at her sympathetically. From the first day Belle had set foot in the public library Gaston had pursued her relentlessly and much too often by means of what could only be described as verbal harassment. Belle had refused to report it though, knowing that he could end up jobless. And Belle – sweet, caring Belle – could not find it in her heart to take that risk. Just like she hadn't moved out with her father yet, because she felt she had to take care of him. It was no wonder she'd taken a liking to an anonymous man on the phone who'd professed his care and love for his son. A smile appeared on Ary's lips.

"Don't mind him, Bells, he doesn't know any better," she reassured her friend and Belle nodded with a slightly weary but grateful look in her eyes before she turned to go to the reading room.

"Hey Belle. One last thing."

The librarian stopped and cast a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifted expectantly and her friend cast her a mischievous smile.

"You do realize that by nicknaming you "Miss Australia", your Sleepless was trying to find out if you're married, right?"

* * *

**A/N:**_ Thanks so much for the reviews of this story's first chapter! I hope I didn't make you wait too long, **NicoleMuenchSeidel**! As it appears Belle lives in Portland, ME instead of Storybrooke but she definitely will cross the town border sometime soon... Thank you, **Anjyu, Boots111, anon** and **Rumbeller25**! I hope you liked this chapter too! **Raeymaeker**, you're making me blush... Thank you so much. The next wake-up call will take place in chapter 3, which is ready to be corrected by my wonderful beta **Delintthedarkone**. I can't wait to read the next installment of Master Spinner! Never saw that episode of Seinfeld, **Wondermorena** but it sounds hilarious! The idea is so much fun to play with that I'm not surprised I'm not the first one to use it._

_I hope chapter 3 will be up next week. _


	3. Spinning Rotation

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 3: Spinning Rotation**

* * *

The bedroom was shrouded in darkness the early morning in November Only the hands of the alarm clock slowly moving toward 6 A.M. were an indication that the man in the antique bed would soon be pulled from his slumber, though not by the unrelenting alarm clock itself. There was a slight chill in the air that made the man breathe a bit heavily. His tousled, half-long hair lay sprawled on his pillow and his brows were furrowed a bit, not finding enough rest to relax completely, even when in sleep.

Cold air made the heavy curtains sway, and Mr. Gold burrowed a little further under the covers when an old-fashioned cell phone that sat on the nightstand started to vibrate. A split second later a shrill ringtone ripped through the peaceful silence.

Immediately the eyes of the sleeping man flew open and with a suppressed gasp he jolted to life. Automatically, his hand grabbed the phone and before he'd even regained full consciousness he'd already flipped it open with movements that betrayed routine.

Not bothering to look at the screen, as he knew that it would say nothing more than 'Private number', and without clearing his throat he answered the phone.

"Hello?"

He jumped a little when a rough voice bellowed in his ear.

"WAAAKEEEE UUUUUPPPP! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!"

Gold let himself sink back against his pillow; eyes closing as he distastefully increased the distance between the phone and his ear. A sharp sting of disappointment stabbed his heart, while the bellowing man on the other side of the line tirelessly repeated himself. He sighed inaudibly.

Like every morning since the silvery voice of Miss Australia had whispered into his ear, he wondered how long before that bloody rotation would come around and she would greet him again, the only reason for him to keep going with this madness.

In the past few weeks he'd been woken up by many different people, men and women alike. He'd been sung to, both in Chinese and English, shouted at, attempted conversation with about trains, and all variations in between. One man had spontaneously begun reciting (or rather badly butchering) Robert Burns at him when he'd heard Gold's accent. He still shuddered at the memory. And now there was this… drill-sergeant from the Midwest to add to the collection.

He lowered the phone until it rested against his shoulder and closed his eyes again. No matter who had called to pull him from his slumber over the past couple of weeks, it was never the one he was waiting for. Every night since her sweet voice had sounded through the small speaker, he had fallen asleep with his eyes fixed on the device as if willing it to be her who would be calling him the following morning. And every morning, the restlessness he refused to call hope plummeted to the basement when it again wasn't her.

_Miss Australia. _

It had slipped from his lips before he'd known it, the silly endearment, which in hindsight had been a rather blatant way of inquiring after her marital state. Though it wasn't until he'd gone to his shop and turned the closed sign to open that he realized that she hadn't corrected his playful assumption.

Three weeks had gone by, and the memory of her voice still lingered in the back of his mind, a cheerful echo that dispelled the dusty silence of his shop. It didn't matter if he polished silver, repaired a clock, valued a new acquisition or simply stood behind the counter for a moment. The entire collection of trinkets and artefacts reminded him of their conversation, made him wonder if she'd notice the intangible, magical atmosphere if he would bring her here... Most of the time this was the moment where he'd cut himself off, not allowing for his fantasy to imagine anything more beyond another conversation with the Australian. The situation was already ridiculous enough as it was.

As the drill-sergeant at the other side of the line worked through his routine the thought crept upon him that maybe… maybe she hadn't asked to be put back on his rotation list after all. After all, she'd never actually said that she would, only that it was a possibility. And how long could it possibly take for this rotation to end and start another one? There couldn't be _that_ many people demented enough to sign up for what they even dared to call a service.

He furrowed his eyebrows as he pushed back the feelings of doubt and brought the cell phone back to his ear.

"Thank you," Gold stopped the drill-sergeant's bellowing on a peremptory tone and without waiting for a response, hung up. He lowered his phone and an annoyed sigh escaped him before he decisively threw the covers off of him.

He'd better get up and get ready or Bae would get ahead of him again.

* * *

When Bae entered the basement later that evening he found his father where he expected to find him: behind his spinning wheel. For a moment he remained standing in the doorway, looking down the three steps and into the large space, which was lit by a single bulb dangling from the wooden ceiling. Though the basement looked old and worn, it was clean and lacked the earthy scent that was so typical for old basements. A workbench was shoved underneath the high basement windows, and the walls were aligned with shelves containing tools and parts for what clearly was an extension of Gold's workspace in the back of his shop. The light shone down on a large, antique spinning wheel in the middle of the room that was decorated with elegant carvings; its wielder looking small and a bit out of place in his tailor-made suit. There was an odd serenity on his features as his foot, still clad in his gleaming dress shoe, rhythmically pumped the pedal to encourage the gently purring wheel; his hands carefully holding the wool being spun into an even thread.

"Papa?"

"Hmm?"

Gold didn't look up from the turning spinning wheel as he fed the wool into the orifice, but Bae knew his papa was listening.

"There's a field trip tomorrow. We need to be at school at 7 A.M."

His father finally turned around and his foot stopped pumping the paddle. The wheel came to a halt and the melancholy expression that always rested on Gold's features when spinning disappeared. A teasing smile formed on his lips.

"That will be tough for you then," he replied and Bae scowled as he went down the steps and crossed the basement.

He knew his father woke much earlier than he did and though he was grateful for it, it had proved physically impossible for him to do the same. He was a teenager after all.

"You should have told me before, though." Gold gave his son a mildly stern look. "What do you need?"

The teenager shrugged and gave the wheel an awkward turn, watching it slowly rotate before coming to a halt. Bae had always been far too restless to understand his father's hobby.

"Just the usual. We're going to some museum in Boston."

Gold supressed a smile at the indignant reply as he stood. One day he expected Bae to regain his interest in museums, perhaps show _his own_ child around like Gold had done when Bae was just a wee thing clinging to his good leg, but today his son was too much of a teenager to care. He ruffled his boy's hair affectionately, which the teen allowed because there was no one around to see it.

"We better pack your lunch for tomorrow then."

* * *

It was well past 11 P.M. when Gold pushed the alarm button and put the alarm clock back on the nightstand.

Half an hour earlier than normal.

He would already be up tomorrow morning when the next participant would be calling. A smile tugged at his lips as he closed his eyes. He was a reluctant participant and certainly not an easy one but for the first time he was looking forward to answering the phone to someone else than the Australian. If it was only to tell the confused person on the other side of the line that at 6 A.M. he was too late to wake him up.

* * *

When the following day's expected ringing cut through the early morning quiet, Gold turned from where he was standing at the window, staring at his own gloomy reflection against the darkness outside as he put on his tie. On the nightstand his mobile phone was vibrating and ringing, harshly demanding his attention at this ungodly hour. An amused smile appeared on his features.

Today was Bae's field trip and he had to make sure his son would arrive at school before the bus would be leaving for Boston. The parents had been asked to bring their children to school as it was too early for the school bus to ride. Gold expected that the appearance of his black Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham would cause quite a stir among the other parents, who had never seen the frightening Mr. Gold doing something as homey as taking his son to school. In a grim sort of way, the prospect of their astonishment actually amused him, knowing that it would force them to completely revise their views of the town beast.

Without haste he crossed his bedroom and for what seemed the hundredth time already glanced at the screen. 'Private number' it said. Better to get this over with quickly, he decided and pushed the reply button, lifted the phone to his ear and grabbed his jacket all in one fluid movement.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Dearie, but calling to wake me up requires you to get up before me."

The person on the other side of the line didn't reply, obviously stunned by his very awake, very alert greeting. Gold didn't mind. The ghost of a smirk still remained on his lips as he flicked off the bed lamp and turned to leave the room. But when he opened is bedroom door he realised that the other side of the line had remained silent still all this time.

"Dearie?" He repeated uninterestedly like he did when someone called the shop and fell silent, which happened most of the time. He would simply continue what he was doing, patiently waiting for the person on the other side of the line to regain his or her courage.

At this moment his time was limited though with Bae going on this field trip.

"Mr. Scotsman…"

The wind was knocked out of him as a completely unexpected, wonderfully sweet voice cut through his sarcasm, the Australian accent melodious and little disconcerted. Suddenly his heart pounded in his chest and he actually had to lower himself on the edge of his bed as the voice, her voice, which he had longed for to hear again, tentatively reached out to him.

The first thing that flashed through his mind was a heartfelt curse. This could not be happening. Why did she have to call on _this _day of all days? He had been hoping to hear her voice again for the past three weeks, had endured one strange phone call after another and now that she'd finally returned to him he was in a rush and lacking in time. Why, oh why could fate never smile down on him like it did on others?

Gold realized that he'd had yet to say something in response.

He closed his eyes.

"Miss Australia, it's good to hear your voice again."

This was a grave understatement of the feelings the two words falling from her lips had stirred up with him and he let out a quiet breath in a desperate attempt to will himself back to calmness.

"Yours too," was her soft reply and for a moment she sounded almost like she'd missed him. A warm feeling spread through his chest as he tentatively entertained the idea that maybe she'd been looking forward to speaking with him again too.

"How are you doing, Dearie?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice automatically taking on a reassuring tone that made his eyes soften. "But you're up early. Even earlier than last time… Why?"

"Well…" Using his cane as leverage he stood up, her question reminding him of his fatherly duties. Quietly opened his bedroom door. "My son's school decided that today is a perfect day for a field trip to some museum he failed to remember the name of, so I have to get up early to drive him to school. Speaking of which – he should be in the bathroom by now, taking a shower. Do you have one moment?"

"Of course! If you're busy then maybe we should cut it short for today-"

"Oh no, Dearie, I'm not letting you go so easily as that," Gold interjected quickly.

He nudged open Baelfire's bedroom door with his foot and as he lowered his phone his accent acquired a harsher edge while he called on a low voice, "Bae, it's time tae get up. If ye don't, I swear I'm gonnae drop ye off in yer pyjamas. It's yer choice."

A pained grumble mounted from somewhere inside the dark room and Gold let the door stand ajar so the light from the hallway would convince the boy to get up in case his father's promise hadn't already.

With his cell phone back to his ear he made his way downstairs, the tap of his cane soft on the polished wooden floor.

On the other side of the line Miss Australia chuckled. "Poor boy. How is he doing?"

An indulgent smirk momentarily passed over his lips as he carefully stepped into the kitchen and automatically opened a cupboard, taking out a frying pan. He turned towards the refrigerator. "Oh, he's as fine as a teenager can be, I suppose. Just having trouble waking up."

"Did you think about what we talked about last time?"

"Yes, you were right about that." His voice sounded strangely subdued as he absent-mindedly slid his tie between two buttons of his shirt and ignited the stove.

"If…" She hesitated. "If you don't mind me asking, how did it happen? Baelfire's disappearance I mean."

She sounded terribly careful but if he'd had any reservations about telling her, her sweet mentioning of his son's name would have swept away all of that. It sounded as if she'd been thinking about this for some time, which caused his heart to make a small jump.

"I don't mind," he told her. "After Bae's mother passed away, the man with whom she'd shared her bed thought he would be granting her final wish if he'd take her son with him."

He closed his eyes, his hand tightening around the spatula as the memory resurfaced.

"And I let him," he recalled bitterly. "I thought that was what Bae wanted. So I let him. I regretted it the moment my boy was taken away. He looked back over his shoulder, and I saw the panic in his eyes. Sadly it took me another month to start realizing what it meant. I searched for him ever since."

"But you found him," her voice gently pulled him from the horrible memories and he responded almost automatically.

"Yes, I found him."

It had cost him six long years and he'd gone down many roads that were too questionable to elaborate on but apparently that's what it had taken to get his son back.

"It was quite a surprise for him to find himself living in the US all of a sudden and going to a real American middle school," he added dryly to lift the atmosphere and it worked. Miss Australia chuckled.

"I know the feeling," she sympathized with his son. "It's very exciting. But the most important thing now is that you can take care of him again," she supported him. "I'm willing to bet you're making him his breakfast right now."

He let out an amused huff as he looked at the sausages and black pudding in the frying pan. They started to spread a mouth-watering scent through the kitchen, which was sure to have Bae clumping downstairs eventually. "You're quite perceptive, Miss Australia."

"Ah well," she laughed. "I can clearly hear something sizzling in the pan through the phone. I was wondering… Is Baelfire a common name in Scotland?"

"No." He turned over the black pudding. "Bae's mother was into Celtic mysticism when she named him, but it's a good name in my opinion. Strong. It means bonfire."

The only thing Milah had done right by her son, he thought bitterly but didn't say out loud.

"It's a beautiful name," Miss Australia agreed sincerely. "One you won't soon forget, so ehm…"

Her voice turned serious all of a sudden. "… Did you talk with him about the wake-up service?"

For a moment he stayed silent to assemble his thoughts on what exactly they'd said to each other about this the previous time they spoke.

"Yes, I have."

"And?"

"He said that he unchecked the option of having to call other people myself," he responded dryly.

"That's it?" She asked disbelievingly.

"Yes. There was nothing more to say."

She burst out laughing, a freeing sound that swept away any uneasiness that time and waiting had built up. Once again he found that he was basking in it, that warmth and cheerfulness as he put bacon and black pudding into the pan and his closed-off features softened.

When true to his word, Gold said nothing more on the matter, Miss Australia changed subjects.

"So, how did you like the past three weeks of wake-up calls?" She inquired curiously and it felt as if she was standing next to him, peeking past his shoulder to check the contents of the frying pan with a cheerful smile. He wondered what she looked like.

"I wouldn't recommend it," he replied honestly. "Have you ever been lectured about the inflorescence of late flowering bulbous plants at 6 A.M.?"

He was glad to hear that he had made her chuckle again.

"Constantly," was her surprising response though she didn't elaborate. "What are your favorite flowers if I may ask?"

"Bellflowers," he responded a little distractedly while making sure the eggs would slide into the pan while keeping the yolk intact.

But despite his effort he did detect that for some reason her breathing hitched slightly at his reply and immediately he wished he knew what she was thinking. Instead, he settled for a gentle reminder.

"If I remember correctly this time is actually your turn to tell me about you, Dearie. So, why won't you start?"

"You're right," she readily admitted and his lips curled in a satisfied grin. "What would you like to know?"

Her voice sounded a little breathless and his eyelids fluttered closed at the tingling sensation it caused in his stomach. 'Your address, your telephone number, your name,' he thought but he suggested courteously, "How about we start with your work? What do you do?"

Over the past weeks several possibilities had passed through his head and he was keen to know if he'd judged her right.

"I'm a librarian," her voice sounded from the other side of the line and a smile involuntarily formed on his lips. He was pleased – and not only because he was right about her but also it shed more light on the person behind Miss Australia. There also was something appealing about her being a librarian, a profession like his own; studying life from the side-lines.

"Ah well, that explains your interest in my pawnshop," he deduced easily and she chuckled lightly.

"I can't help myself sometimes, I'm afraid. Actually, I wish I hadn't agreed on telling you more about me. Instead of talking about me I could have listened to more stories from the pawnshop."

"I'm flattered that you want to hear an old man prattle on about his baubles Dearie, but ah, I'm afraid the deal is non-negotiable," he lightly teased her, "it sounds like a good title for a book though: 'Stories From The Pawnshop.'"

She gave him a hearty laugh. "I'm sure it would find its way to our library. We actually have a large section about antiques & collectibles. It sounds like a great addition for either that section or fantasy and fairy tales. What do you think?"

"Well," he paused, "I do have in my possession a beautiful compass that once belonged to a father who lost his two children in the woods…"

He was rewarded with an audible gasp coming from the other side of the line.

"Hansel and Gretel!" Miss Australia exclaimed excitedly and he smirked in satisfaction, pleased with her enthusiasm.

"If you say so," he replied easily. "Though you shouldn't jump to conclusions before you've read the whole book, my dear."

"Hm, I seem to remember that one," she mused in mock thoughtfulness. "When I was younger I went through this period when I decided to read only half of each book to save time and read more. Not one of my best ideas. I should have known that with books the sting's often in the tail."

"Not only with books, Dearie," Gold replied as he thought about the shocked faces of people when the full extent of what their deal with him entailed became clear to them. It wasn't as if he hid the truth from them, they simply didn't bother to properly read the agreement he presented them with. And he didn't consider it his responsibility to educate grown men and women. But this wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Miss Australia. Instead he asked, "What was your best idea?"

"Going to university," she replied immediately and he nodded in agreement. "I majored in English literature, but through the years I've also become proficient in French, German, Italian, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese and Russian. At the moment I'm studying to learn Arabic."

"So, your work is your hobby then," he established, not a little impressed. A lovely voice and educated too. She was getting more interesting with each minute he talked to her. "Am I correct that you learned all these languages because you prefer to read books in the original language?"

"Yes," she confirmed a bit shyly, sounding terribly vulnerable all of a sudden and he realized that she most likely had had to defend herself on her choices before. In response a completely inappropriate feeling of protectiveness roared to life.

"You're quite the learned lady, Miss Australia. The entry requirements for the pageant must have been raised considerately. My compliments to the Aussies."

His deep voice held just the right notch of appreciation. It worked. She laughed softly.

"I barely meet the requirements to even start dreaming of becoming Miss Australia for real, Mr. Scotsman. Take the guidelines for height for example. Mine is the perfect height for a ballet dancer, not for a model or a Miss."

Something primal within him purred possessively at her revelation, understanding that she would fit him perfectly.

He cast a look at the ceiling, estimating the time it would take Bae to come downstairs judging by the sound of his trudging around and placed the sausages, bacon, black pudding and eggs on the plate he'd set out for his son. When he was done he went to stand before the kitchen window, looking outside. He didn't want to spoil his precious time with Miss Australia with his own breakfast; he could always stop by at Granny's for a sandwich after he'd dropped off Bae at school.

"So, how did this love for the written word come to be?"

Always having been a very good judge of people he'd felt that something about it was important to her the previous time they'd spoken and he knew his feeling had been correct when a painful silence descended between them.

"Dearie?" He asked after ten seconds, deliberately keeping his voice subdued.

"I'm still here." On the other side of the line Miss Australia's voice suddenly sounded weak as if there was a lump in her throat. Then she sighed as if to try and expel some of the tension she obviously felt. "I… I don't know… if I can tell you."

"I believe we made a deal, Miss Australia," he responded quietly but he knew that if she refused to tread this water he would let her off the hook.

She let out a small, watery laugh. "Oh, it's not that I don't _want_ to tell you, Mr Scotsman. It's that I fear that I will burst into tears halfway through and I would hate for that to happen."

"Why would you burst into tears?" His eyes flitted from one side of the garden he could see to the other as his features crinkled in a rare display of sympathy. She sounded so vulnerable despite her clear effort to stay strong that he wished he hadn't asked her about it.

"Because reading became my hobby and passion when my mother got sick. We moved to the States, my Mum, Dad and me, when I was six years old and she fell ill about a year later. Cancer. Inoperable."

She sighed again, clearly to give herself a moment and he closed his eyes, knowing what would be coming. It was the consequence of living in a country where there was no such thing as the National Health Service, however flawed the system might be.

"She went through a number of operations though before that verdict came and every time she was convinced she would get better," she told him quietly. "But she passed away half a year later and there wasn't any money left to return to Australia. I doubt my father would ever have left her behind though."

Her voice, which had become a bit hoarse, had taken on a higher note and he knew she was on the verge of bursting into tears like she'd feared.

"Your mother sounds like she was a fighter," he ventured carefully.

"Yes, she was. The doctors said that that was what had prolonged her life, not the treatments." Her voice sounded small and her dejectedness actually broke his heart.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, the endearment falling from his mouth before he knew it. How long had it been since he'd used that word with a woman? Perhaps a few times in the beginning of his relationship with Milah – certainly not with Cora. If anything he meant what he said, which was remarkable.

Miss Australia however was deserving of it, even though he'd only heard her voice over the phone. He wanted her to stay strong for him because that's what she wanted. He chose to ignore though that this concern for her could only be attributed to his rapidly increasing fondness for this woman; a fondness he didn't quite want to acknowledge at this moment.

He turned around when Bae entered the kitchen after having only faintly registered the sound of his son clumping down the stairs. The boy threw him an odd look, as he silently pointed at the filled plate and then at the hallway mouthing 'living room' before he stalked off. His cane added to the sound of his footsteps and for a moment he wondered if Miss Australia would pick up on that but if she did, she didn't comment on it as she let out a shaky sigh.

"Anyway…" she cleared her throat and her voice grew in strength. "The public library is opposite from Dad's work, so as soon as I had learned to read I started to visit almost every day to read."

"It was a way of forgetting," he supplied and she confirmed in a small voice, "Yes."

A long moment of silence descended between them and he sat down on the nearby sofa, his cane resting against his knee.

"Thank you, sweetheart," Gold said with a tone that came out surprisingly tenderly, "for confiding in me. I must say, that outside Bae, it's been a long time since someone trusted me enough to confide in…"

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then took a deep breath. "May I ask if it brought you what you hoped for?"

It took only one more moment then he'd expected for her to answer but then came her melancholy reply, "Actually… no. Not entirely. Many books reminded me of her, but I noticed… that I came to love it, because they helped me preserve the good memories. Does that make sense?"

Gold gave a knowing nod, although she couldn't see it. "Yes, it does."

But before he could say more she added fiercely, "But that's not the only reason why I love books. I simply love to read about adventures and I kind of live through my books."

Then she let out an adorable groan that sounded much more like his cheerful Australian again. "Oh my, that sounds terrible! I didn't mean to say that I don't live at all…"

He smiled as he sat down on the sofa. "Don't worry, Dearie. Rest assured that I'm not thinking that you are a sad spinster who lives amidst piles of books and hasn't the seen the light of day in three years."

"Ouch, you only make it sound worse!" She protested laughingly and automatically one of his smirks appeared on his face.

"My apologies, Miss Australia. It won't do for me to accuse you of something that applies more to myself than anyone else. Let me rephrase that." Mild amusement laced his courteous tone. He genuinely enjoyed their banter. "We may sit in our library and yet be in all quarters of the earth."

"John Lubbock," she added immediately and a soft smile passed over his lips in response.

For a moment she fell silent.

"You know what I mean," she then said softly, gratefully, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Then again…" she hesitated. "You know… Books have surrounded me since I can remember and sometimes it feels as if I've gone the easy way by becoming a librarian. And I start to wonder if there's more to life than just… this."

He quirked up one eyebrow. "The librarian wants to go on quests for spears?"

On the other side of the line Miss Australia laughed amusedly. "You know about those Librarian films?"

"Yes, Bae made me watch them with him. They're actually rather amusing."

"And very good for promoting library sciences. All of a sudden we librarians look cool," she replied jokingly, "instead of – what did you just call me? A sad spinster?"

"Apologies not accepted then?" He inquired with a velvet tone, which earned him a mischievous laugh.

"You're forgiven, Mr. Scotsman but it's not forgotten."

"You're a sensible woman," was his approving comment. "But how about those adventures you seek?"

"Well, I'm actually not a very adventurous person, but apart from the four years when I went to college I've never left this provincial town where I grew up. I would love to see more of the world, you see? Create something new, even if it's only in the next town. I could become a librarian somewhere else."

"Then you should do that," he told her on an encouraging tone. "If it's your father you're worried about you should know that you could live your life and still support him. There are other ways. You just have to explore the possibilities."

"Papa?"

He lifted one hand and cast a look at the mantel clock. "I'll be there in a minute, Bae. Put your coat on and don't forget your scarf. It's cold outside."

"But, Papa…"

He turned around slowly, his phone to his ear, an unreadable expression on his features.

"Yes, Bae?"

Bae wore a hesitant, slightly awkward expression and shifted his weight from one leg to another.

"You haven't eaten anything," Bae mumbled as he raked his hand through his thick dark curls.

Gold's expression softened immediately. "It's all right, Bae, I can get take away on the way back. Now go get your coat. I'll be there in a minute."

Bae hesitated and his eyes flicked to the phone plastered to his father's ear but then shrugged and left the living room.

"You have to go." A warm voice with an Australian on the other side of the line established. "Was that Bae? He sounds like a nice boy. He really cares for you."

Gold's mouth quirked up in a smile. "Yes, that was him. We have to go, I'm afraid. Otherwise I'll be driving him to the museum myself."

"We can't have that happening, can we? I'm afraid there's nothing more than to say than 'see you later'. Or 'Hear you later', I suppose," Miss Australia said regretfully.

"Can I surmise that you'll ask to be put on my rotation list again?"

"Of course, Mr. Scotsman. You shouldn't doubt that," she replied, her voice laced with some sadness. It was clear she was as reluctant to end the conversation and have fate once more decide when they would speak again.

He clenched his teeth, knowing about the rules but very much tempted right now to just begin blurting out his phone number until the computer would terminate the conversation. That would be a ruthless end to a wonderful conversation though so he decided against it.

"One more time," he promised her as much as himself, "One more time and I swear I'm going to ask you for your address, your telephone number – everything, the first thing I hear your voice again, Miss Australia."

She drew in a halted breath. "I'm going to hold you to that promise, Mr. Scotsman."

He closed his eyes. "Until next time then, Miss Australia."

On the other side of the line the Australian woman let out a defeated breath. "Until next time, Mr. Scotsman. I can't wait."

When he terminated the call he almost viciously pressed the red button on his cell phone.

"Papa?"

The intensely frustrated look hadn't completely disappeared from his features when he looked up and saw Bae standing in the doorway holding his father's coat, car keys and his permission slip for the field trip in his arms. His face showed a scrutinizing look that Gold had never seen with his son before as he studied his father.

"Are you ready to go now?"

* * *

**A/N:** _After this week's episode we can all use a bit of comfort and perhaps if we all just ignore what happened A&E will have no other choice but to bring back The Reason why Storybrooke was created in the first place... Unless that's their plan for Season 4 all along. Anyway, in this story Bae is blissfully 14, back where he belongs and determined to change his father's future. _

_Ariel a wonderful person to write and somewhat demanding too, haha, **Wondermorena**. It's sad indeed that Belle's father fails to understand what's going on in his daughter's life. I agree with you that Belle has to be dragged to Storybrooke one fine day by Ariel and then it's hard not to notice a certain pawnshop... _

_Thank you so much, **Cynicsquest**! Gaston is such a nasty piece to write. I hope you like this chapter too!_

_I'm absolutely delighted that Delintthedarkone's my beta, **Neferet25**! She's a wonderful person and an amazing artist. Thank you for liking the idea for this story!_

_I hope you all liked this chapter. Thank you so much for reading!_


	4. Lost

**Good Morning, Miss Australia**

**Chapter 4: Lost**

* * *

"Just sit down and make yourself comfortable. You know where the living room is."

The front door was barely open and a wineglass was being pressed into Belle's hands before she'd even stepped inside. Belle reflexively grabbed the wine glass as Ariel quickly dashed back to her tiny kitchenette.

"Is everything all right?" Belle called after her friend. An arm waving at her with a spatula from behind the wall acknowledged her.

"Everything's under control," assured Ary and although Belle doubtfully lifted her eyebrows she decided to leave her friend to her cooking. Instead she put down the wineglass and shrugged out of her coat.

Tonight was what the two friends had dubbed 'girl's night', meaning that Belle traditionally came over to Ary's place on Saturday evening after she was done helping her father at the flower stand. On girl's night they ate, laughed, watched feel-good movies and drank cheap wine (or the ridiculously sweet cocktails Ary made).

Ariel lived in a small apartment over a distinguished men's fashion shop that her father had deemed suitable for a young lady living on her own. Whenever Belle visited with Ary she always made sure to cast a look into the window display, enjoying the calm, classic elegance of the clothing and the shop.

Tonight she'd spotted a single rose among the well-tailored suits and it had brought a faint smile to her lips as she pressed Ary's doorbell. It was almost Valentine's Day.

Belle nestled on the creaky couch wine glass in hand and stared at the flowers on the coffee table before her. They were past their glorious peak, wilting in their vase but still beautiful in a lush, 17th century still life painting kind of way. The librarian suspected they were a gift from Eric who had visited his Ariel last weekend. The bouquet looked like it had been bought at a filling station and a smile tugged at Belle's lips as she pictured the man rushing for Portland to meet his girlfriend only to realize that he'd forgotten to bring a present for her with him while just passing the city borders.

Belle took a small sip from her glass and turned to lean over the back of the sofa with an enigmatic look on her face. It was time for a casual announcement.

"I spoke with him again."

The message had the desired effect. Immediately Ary's head appeared from around the corner, eyes wide.

"You what?!"

The librarian hummed something indiscernible in her glass of wine while Ary flopped into a rickety chair, dinner on the stove immediately forgotten.

"Tell me everything there is to know!"

"What about dinner?" Belle inquired after the sound of pots boiling on the stove. Ary made an impatient hand gesture.

"Not important right now. I know you like your veggies burned. Now tell me! Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I wanted to yesterday, but you were so busy that I thought…"

Ary violently shook her head. "No, no thinking next time Bells. You just pull out that phone and let me know immediately, you hear?"

Belle pulled the face of a child caught with its hand in the cookie tin at Ary's mock sternness.

"Now," Ary leaned forward eagerly. "Was he glad to hear your voice again?"

After three weeks the archivist had come to anticipate Belle's mysterious Sleepless coming back around almost as much as Belle did.

Belle's blue eyes shone with an unmistakably dreamy quality as she thought back of her early morning talk with Mr. Scotsman the previous day and how his voice had nestled with renewed freshness in her memory.

"Yes," she admitted with a sheepish smile. "Though he was already up and awake."

Ary amusedly lifted her eyebrow. "You don't say. A true Sleepless in Seattle, like I said."

Belle rolled her eyes at her. "His son had a field trip day. And clearly he had some trouble getting up. There was the odd parental admonishment during our conversation. Actually, he threatened to drop his son off at school in his pyjamas."

Though Mr. Scotsman had lowered the phone, she'd been able to follow everything that had been said. And had been very surprised by the thickening of his accent while he woke up his son. She couldn't deny that the throaty sound had caused her heart to skip a beat.

Belle took a sip from her wine. "You know, I think that provided with the chance he would actually have followed through with his promise."

"Ah, the joys of being a parent to a teenager," Ary sighed sagely, obviously referring to her father who at one point had no less than seven teenaged daughters. "So, what more did he say? Has he already admitted to having committed various murders?"

Belle stuck out her tongue and said with false casualness, "No… But he did say my name."

"He did what?" Ary cried, almost falling from her chair in amazement. "How can that be?"

"Well, not consciously," Belle made the subtle distinction, "but when I asked him what kind of flowers he liked he said Bellflowers."

Immediately Ary froze in her excitement looking at the librarian as if she'd lost it.

"Bellflowers. He said that he likes Bellflowers," she repeated slowly and Belle, missing the sceptical tone, nodded absent-mindedly, her deep blue eyes showing that her thoughts were miles away.

She hoped he hadn't noticed her hitched intake of breath as her name innocently rolled from his lips. The way he'd said it lent a certain gravitas to her name, making it sound more rounded than through the sharper American pronunciation, like quality Bordeaux. And she'd liked it. Very much.

"Oh heavens. You're even further gone than I thought," Ary sighed and discreetly ducked her head to avoid looking at the delicate blush blossoming on Belle's high cheekbones. Perhaps taking a look at the cooking pots wasn't such a bad idea after all, she decided as she lifted herself from the cane chair.

"So, what did you two talk about this time?" Ary asked, already willing to address the both of them as a set as she set course to the kitchen.

Belle cast her a mock desperate gaze after her but then smiled and shook her head. "Me actually. He asked about my work and we talked about books and what I love about them…"

"Please, tell me you didn't list the languages you speak." Ary's head appeared around the corner, her wide eyes staring at her with some alarm and Belle pulled up her eyebrows bashfully.

"Actually, I did. Shouldn't I have done that?"

Ary groaned. "If you'd like him to think you're no fun, yes. Now it seems as though you do nothing but stick your nose in books all day," she quoted their mutual friend Gaston and both girls wrinkled their noses at the thought of him.

"But he understood immediately that I learned those languages to be able to read my books in the original language," Belle defended herself. "He's actually the first person not to ask me why I bother when there are English translations available. He complimented me."

Ary's features softened. Belle had spent enough time defending why a pretty little thing like herself had her nose stuck in books and in her book this man now had already earned his Brownie points for refraining from doing so.

At that moment it didn't seem like he'd been bored, more like pleasantly surprised.

"Hm." The archivist turned this new piece of information over, undoubtedly adding it to a list of sorts as she drained the green beans. "You got lucky this time then. What else did you tell him?"

Belle cleared her throat and put her wineglass down.

"I told him about my Mum," she then said softly and immediately Ary's sceptical expression softened. Having lost her own mother she hadn't known any better than growing up with her father and six older sisters, but she knew what it was to miss a mother. Belle's fate had been especially hard, as she and her father had been left behind in a strange country that in time was to become their new home but at that time was anything but.

It was a huge step for Belle to tell someone she didn't know all to well, let alone a stranger, about losing her mother.

"How did he respond?" Ary returned to her modest living room with two plates and Belle smiled when she spotted the indeed burned green beans.

"He understood," Belle summarized the insightful comments he'd made.

Ary's features softened at seeing Belle's melancholy expression.

"When will you two speak again? That will be the time when you get his phone number, right?"

Belle laughed. "If he agrees to it, yes."

Ary shot her a look. "Of course he does, Bells. Don't be daft."

She suspected that whoever was hiding behind this Sleepless identity he was as fond of the librarian as she was of him.

"He has already hinted toward something like that," Belle reluctantly admitted, gravely toning down his intense promise. "Anyway, if the last rotation is anything to go by it will at least take another three weeks before I speak with him again. Although… When the volunteer asked me if I was interested in being put back on his rotation list again he was actually surprised when I agreed. Apparently he scared off some of the other participants." She smirked at the thought. He had warned her before that he was a difficult man and clearly some other participants had encountered this side of him as well. Somehow she even suspected him of willingly reducing the number of people on his rotation list to make the rotation end quicker this time.

"Perhaps this way we will meet again sooner. That is of course, if he extends his subscription past this trial month," she added without thought as she took a bite from the deliciously seasoned halibut filet Eric had provided Ary with. Then the meaning of her words slowly sunk in and she took in a sharp breath, almost choking in her fish.

"Oh God, his subscription!"

"What about it?" Ary looked up in surprise.

"He has to extend it if I am to stay on his rotation list," her friend exclaimed with wide-open eyes. "Otherwise he will have to sign up again and a totally random group of participants would be assigned to him. He would never return to me again."

"So, he'll extend his subscription," Ary shrugged, not seeing the problem.

"You don't understand," Belle groaned as she let her head fall in her hands. "He didn't sign up for this himself, remember? It was his son. His son holds his account and should know the conditions. Our fate lies in the hands of a fourteen-year-old boy who probably won't think about technicalities like these in a million years."

"Oh." Now Ary began to understand. "So, if his son doesn't extend his subscription he will be out within one week from today… Am I right to guess you two didn't talk about such mundane things yesterday?"

"Yes," Belle confirmed plaintively from her hiding place. "How could I be so stupid?"

"Well," Ary tried to encourage her. "Perhaps his rotation list has gotten so small that you'll return to him within this one week and there won't be a problem at all."

It sounded unconvinced and Belle just shook her head. "Not gonna happen."

Suddenly cloud nine had evaporated to leave only the glaring truth – this morning, when she'd reluctantly hung up on Mr. Scotsman was most probably the last time they'd ever talked to each other. A wave of nausea washed over her and Belle pushed away her plate.

"I'm sorry, Ary. I think I had enough."

Her friend only nodded understandingly. When she had had difficulties convincing her overbearing father that Eric was the right man for her, she too had shoved away many a meal.

"It's up to fate then. You'll just have to hope that the boy extends his father's subscription."

Belle looked up and Ary was truly touched by the pained looked in her expressive blue eyes. "I think I need one of your cocktails now, Ary. And that feel good film you promised me."

Ary shoved back her chair decisively. "And you'll get it. You'll just sit down on the couch and let me take care of you."

* * *

From his place behind the wheel of his gleaming Cadillac, Gold absent-mindedly followed the bustle of the parking lot of mothers ushering their teenage sons in minivans or SUVs while he waited for Bae to appear. The boy and his team had just had their first football match of the season: visitors against the neighboring town of York.

It had been a strange experience for the pawnbroker.

He'd been the only father watching the game, his hands lightly resting on the handle of his cane. With a bemused expression on his face he'd defied both cutting wind and awkward stares from the mothers with their minivans as his dress shoes sunk away in the mud around the playing field.

The match was entertaining and Gold had been pleased to notice that his son was performing quite well as a midfielder. Nevertheless his thoughts had kept wandering back to the wake-up service that held Miss Australia's identity hostage. The wake-up service that suddenly and unexpectedly, ceased.

Gold was startled on Monday last when he'd been woken by his alarm clock instead of his mobile phone. It had been an alienating experience after months of being woken by someone, and he realized that he'd become used to rising to the many voices of the WB&N Wake-Up Service. Some he'd even begun to recognize as they apparently had agreed to be put back on his rotation list. The reason why was beyond him, because he treated everyone with the same biting sarcasm underneath a veneer of politeness, but apparently some people were prone to masochism, he decided. But all of that had disappeared when on Tuesday and Wednesday his mobile phone had remained silent too. On Friday he'd made a casual remark about it to Baelfire who had looked quite startled, which had not soothed his growing nervousness on the matter.

Gold was pulled from his musings when the right car door was pulled open forcefully and a windblown teenager, now dressed in training gear, plumped down on the car seat.

"Hiya Papa, I'm here. Sorry it took so long. There weren't enough showers."

He watched as the boy reached between them and placed his kit bag behind his reclining seat and the back seat. For a boy his age Bae was surprisingly careful, to Gold's covert relief.

"It's all right Bae. I'd rather wait a few more minutes than the smell of body odour accompanying us on the way back," he commented as he started the car and turned on the lights. This Sunday afternoon had been particularly gloomy.

"So, how did you like the game?" Bae asked as they slowly drove off the park, lagging behind the mothers with their minivans and SUVs.

"It was a good game," Gold nodded in appreciation. "You played well."

Gold himself had been a mediocre player at best when he was still able to move around without the cane but as any Scot he loved the game and he could see that Bae did actually possess some talent with the ball.

"And how did you like the soccer moms?" Bae leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, his cheeks gaining a rosy colour in the comfortable warmth inside the car. Gold cast his son a sideways look and caught the slight smile on his son's lips.

"Is that what they're called?" Gold inquired casually as he took a left turn.

"Yeah." Bae's smile broadened to a smirk. "It's different here from Scotland. Here it's the mums who drive around and watch the game."

"So, I've noticed," Gold commented neutrally. "Wasn't that Josh's mother who came up to me and tell me that there's no need for me to drive you to the game because, and I quote 'the mothers' rotation system got it all covered'?"

Bae snorted with laughter. "Yes, that was Josh's Mum. She… likes to organize everything around her. It's really annoying sometimes. So, what did you say?"

A quiet smile passed over Gold's lips. "I told her that I wasn't aware that my presence required more reason than my being a father who wants to support his son for his game."

"Ow, she won't thank you for that," Bae grimaced and his father gave a small shrug.

"I'm not in the business of pleasing people," he simply replied and Bae grinned amusedly.

For a moment silence descended between them as Bae watched the pine trees rush by while dusk was setting in. Then he cast a hesitant look at his father.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Bae?" Gold said and saw from the corner of his eye that his son was staring straight ahead as he awkwardly fumbled with his hands. He noticed that Bae had tensed up and he frowned.

"What is it, Bae? Is something wrong? Were you hurt during the game?"

Taking his eyes off the road for a moment he scanned his son's features but saw nothing that should worry him.

"No, I'm fine, Papa. It's just... You know, you never said anything about the wake-up service I signed you up for," Bae then blurted out. "Not if you hated it, or if you liked it. Two times you've been on the phone really long and I think it was the same person you were talking to, but…"

"Calm down, Bae." Gold frowned in surprise at his son's sudden outburst.

All this time he'd thought Bae had not wanted to hear about it and to be honest he had been reluctant to tell the fourteen-year-old about Miss Australia as he was still confused by the feelings she stirred within him. Apart from that there wasn't much to tell that could possibly be of interest to the boy, as he didn't even know her name, where she lived or what she looked like. And after their years of separation Bae was still settling in and he wanted to provide him with a stable environment as much as possible.

"You're right. Those two times I have been speaking with the same person, but I think that's not what has upset you right now." There was something else, he felt but couldn't quite pinpoint.

Bae shook his head. "I never told you why I signed you up for the wake-up service, didn't I?"

Then, without waiting for a response, he confessed, "I did it because I'm worried about you."

A shadow passed over Gold's face. "You're worried about me? Why?"

This wasn't something a parent generally liked to hear from their child.

"Because… because…" Bae swallowed and looked out the window. "Because you're lonely."

His voice was soft as he said it. "I noticed when I came live with you again. You're isolated. And I'm worried that you'll end up alone if something might happen to me… again."

Harsh words but they were true. The father who'd embraced Bae after six long years of separation had become a man withdrawn from the community he lived in. His position was unassailable as he seemed to practically own the entire town and was the town's sole legal adviser but he had no real relationship to speak of.

Bae had been surprised to find out that his father had moved to America shortly after Kilian had taken him with him. His new home wasn't their modest crofters' cottage in Argyll but a salmon Queen Anne villa in a town called Storybrooke, Maine. He had become a rich man, who seemed to have burned his boats when he left Scotland behind. The only thing that his father seemed to have taken with him upon his arrival in the small town in New England was his spinning wheel.

Over the past six months Bae had found that his father had done everything he could to make him feel at home in this new environment but the boy had also noticed that when the surprise of his arrival in Storybrooke had worn off the only real relationship he had was with his newfound son. The townspeople seemed to know next to nothing about his father and even treat him with clear wariness.

His father hadn't always been like this. Back in the small village in Argyll his life as a widower hadn't been easy as the villagers seemed to blame him for something that had to do with his limp and he had been a single parent to his son, but at least they'd been part of the community.

In Storybrooke though his father seemed to keep himself apart from the rest of the town, his interest in the townspeople going no further than the business they brought him.

Bae had decided to take matters in his own hands.

He'd spent a few days musing over the best way of introducing his father to other people when he'd stumbled upon this wake-up service while browsing the Internet for a school project and he'd known this was what he was looking for. It was simple, anonymous and most importantly – the participants came from all over the country, not just Storybrooke.

Signing his father up had been surprisingly simple. There had been some questions, clearly meant to prevent people from signing up other people but he knew his papa well enough to navigate through the procedure. The hardest thing was to put his father's mobile phone on his nightstand the night before the first phone call. The man never took his phone, an out-dated model that didn't even have a colour screen (let alone Internet) to bed and Bae knew it would only awake suspicion if he were to try and convince him to not leave it on the bar in the kitchen that night. So, he'd set his alarm clock at 3 A.M. and snuck into his father's bedroom to put the mobile phone on the nightstand. He'd made sure that the ringtone's volume was raised to the maximum, not caring if this would scare his Papa out of his wits three hours later.

Bae had gone to bed preparing himself for his father's wrath but his reaction had been nothing like he'd expected. He'd expected anger, disappointment, confusion perhaps, but not his hastened appearance more than half an hour later than usual. This had gone quicker than he'd thought, Bae had established as he morosely ate his cereal drenched in cold skim milk. If this were to happen every morning he would have to get used to the taste of sloppy cereal instead of the Scottish breakfasts he'd gotten used to upon arriving here. Except that it didn't, at least until the day of his field trip and his father again had been on the phone longer than ever before.

Gold cast him a troubled look. "Oh, Bae…"

For once the pawnbroker was at a loss for words. Denying Bae's feelings on the matter would equal rejecting them but he felt horrible that Bae felt this way about his father's life.

He lifted his hand from the steering wheel and put it on Bae's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze without taking his eyes of the road. It was a tender moment filled with melancholy and affection and Gold was glad that Bae didn't shake him off.

"So…" Bae eventually cleared his throat. "Who is she?"

The ghost of a smile passed over Gold's lips as he pulled back his hand. His son was a clever boy, clever and persistent.

"She was the participant who called to wake me up the first time. We had a nice conversation and she asked to be put back on my rotation list again."

"You called her 'sweetheart' the last time you were on the phone with her," Bae flung in his face, watching his father closely.

Gold kept his features straight, not showing his surprise. So, he'd heard that? "Yes."

"Why?"

"That's none of your concern, Bae," he responded mildly but with an undertone that accepted no objections.

Bae changed his tactics. "What did you two talk about?"

"You, among other things," Gold now replied truthfully and Bae was actually given a start.

"Me?"

Bae's eyes widened. In typical teenage fashion the fourteen-year-old hadn't thought about that possibility yet.

"Yes, Bae. Actually, I let slip your name during the first phone call. She then guessed correctly that you were the one to have me signed up for it."

Bae bowed his head. "Did you want to speak with her a third time?"

Gold chanced another quick look at his son as the road stretched out before them and saw his son's miserable expression, as his use of the past tense didn't go by unnoticed by him.

"Yes, I would very much like that," he said carefully and Bae sighed, looking away.

"Fuck."

"Language," Gold responded automatically but his heart wasn't in it. "What's the matter, Bae?"

Bae raked his hand through his hair. "I had hoped that… Whatever. When I signed you up for this you got this trial subscription, which would be ending after a month. I thought it was perfect in case you didn't like it."

The expression on his features suggested that he had expected as much when he repeated, "You never said anything about it and… so, I kind of forgot that you have to actively extend your trial subscription if you want to stay on the service. And…. And then you mentioned last Friday that you hadn't received any wake-up calls in a week… and… and…"

The boy's defeated voice trailed away and Gold motionlessly stared at the road ahead at his son as he tried to understand what Bae was saying, or rather not saying as he focused on his feet, not daring to look his father in the eye.

When he finally broke the silence Bae flinched.

"So, if I understand correctly," he said in measured words, "I'm no longer participating in the wake-up service and the only way for me to continue with it is to sign up again, in which case the rotation list again will be assigned randomly. The chance however that she'll be included will be very slim."

Bae looked positively distressed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Gold closed his eyes as something inside of him roared up in anger about the injustice. Miss Australia was gone. He would have to sign up again and wait endlessly for her to return to him, which could take years. Again fate was not looking upon him with kindness. As if it would ever be. Subconsciously he clenched the wheel and he set his jaw.

No, he'd had enough. All these weeks he'd played along because of the promise of knowing Miss Australia's identity within three telephone calls but as usual fate had denied him an easy outcome. It didn't matter though. He was used to it. With Bae he'd turned the world upside down to find him back and he decided that if that was what was needed than he would do the same with Miss Australia.

"Are you angry with me?"

Bae had seen his father's reaction and his small voice pulled Gold from his bitter thoughts.

He sighed. "No Bae. Don't blame yourself. I'm responsible for my own actions. I should have asked you about the terms and conditions."

The boy seemed a little relieved and for a moment they were silent as Gold drove past the sign that welcomed them to Storybrooke.

"So… What are you going to do now?"

Bae was the first to break the silence with a look at his father's unreadable face. He couldn't tell what his father was thinking right now but over the past six months he'd learned that he had to pay attention to what wasn't being said. And he knew that a plan was already forming in his father's mind.

Gold smiled grimly. "I don't know, yet, Bae. But I will find her."

* * *

The pocket watch Gold had recently acquired had proven to be an exquisite piece of clock making and on this rainy January day he'd spent the entire afternoon taking it apart, cleaning and reassembling it_._

He looked up when all thirty clocks in his shop began to chime telling him that it was five o'clock and time to close up shop. Quietly he rose from his seat, took his cane and limped from his workshop to the store in the front. For a moment he stopped, watching the randomly built organized chaos and his thoughts wandered to Miss Australia who would have loved his shop but now would never get the chance to set a foot inside. He wondered when she would realize that Mr... Scotsman had disappeared. It probably wasn't for another two weeks that she would begin to suspect something. He clenched his teeth at the injustice of it all.

A week ago, after Bae had confessed that he hadn't extended his father's subscription, Gold began to write down every piece of information he'd come to know about Miss Australia during their conversations, like he'd done before with Kilian Jones. It helped forming ideas on where to start looking and it ensured that he didn't forget anything. Despite that they had spoken only twice for about half an hour each time the amount of information she'd shared with him was actually surprising. She hadn't hesitated to tell him about herself, which only strengthened his resolve to find her. The small paper in his inside pocket was now filled with bits of information about her in his angular handwriting.

She was Australian and she had moved to the States with her parents when she was six years old. Her mother had passed away when she was still a child because of which she still seemed to live with her father despite having been grown up since long. He worked across from the library where she worked now as a librarian. The town where she lived was big enough to have its own public library. She loved books, which had made her extremely knowledgeable and a polyglot. There was something about flowers that he couldn't quite pinpoint but felt was important and she had welcomed everything he'd told her with such warmth and care that he'd been hopelessly drawn toward her and there was nothing he could do about it.

In the quiet of his shop where he was seldom disturbed he would often pull out the piece of paper and stare at it, trying to figure out where to start as his mind echoed her cheerful voice trusting him with all the information he'd written down on there. At night when Bae was asleep he'd made a list of public libraries in the United States of America, only to look at the dishearteningly large result.

There must be another way, he mused. Another way that didn't involve having to call every bloody library in the country asking for a female librarian with an Australian accent… But no real alternative to his original idea had presented itself thus far.

The sound of the bell announcing a visitor made Gold look up and his impassive features softened in a smile when Bae stumbled inside.

"Hiya, Papa. It's past closing time. You ready to go?"

Gold nodded and carefully put the watch in his vault behind one of the many paintings on the wall.

"Papa, I've been thinking," Bae said as he leaned against the counter. "What exactly does this Australian woman know about you?"

Gold cast him a look as he raised his eyebrows. He'd told Bae some facts about Miss Australia, feeling that the boy had the right to know and in the knowledge that the secret would be safe with him.

"She knows I'm a pawnbroker originating from Scotland and that I'm father to a fourteen-year-old named Baelfire. Does it matter?" He replied absent-mindedly as he crossed the shop on a measured pace, the sound of his leather shoes accompanied by the familiar thud of his cane.

"Well, yes, actually. It's great!"

Gold turned around the closed sign. "It is?"

Bae nodded vigorously. "Yeah. It means that not only can you search for her, but you can reach out to her too."

He'd clearly given this some thought.

"In what way?" Gold shifted his weight from his bad leg to the cane as he turned to look at his son, a spark of interest in his eyes.

Bae gave him a huge grin. "Papa, have you ever heard of the Internet?"

"You mean the digital highway where you signed me up for that ridiculous wake-up service?" Gold made an elegant gesture with his ringed hand. "I might have heard of it, yes."

"Then, do you also understand that it won't do that in 2014 your shop still goes without a website?"

Gold's features softened as Bae smirked amusedly and he realized that for the first time since Bae had come live with him he felt free enough to banter with his father. It meant that he was beginning to feel at home and the thought warmed his heart with gratitude.

"I wasn't aware," Gold responded dryly but without his signature sarcasm.

Bae inclined his head. "You should be. I can build a website for the shop that will guide her to you if she decides to Google you."

"But she doesn't know my name and there must be hundreds of thousands pawnbrokers in the whole country."

Gold honestly didn't understand how this would help him.

"Ah, but you said yourself that she knows _my_ name." Bae spread his arms triumphantly. "I mean, how many Baelfires can there be in whole of the USA? And how many of them are the son of a Scottish pawnbroker?"

Gold nodded thoughtfully, already warming up to the idea but not quite understanding it yet. "I see your point, but how exactly is that going to work then? I mean you're my son, not an employee of the shop."

The boy let his eyes sweep along the shelves. "No, but I can build in search commands that will lead anyone who types in 'Baelfire pawnbroker' or 'pawnshop Baelfire' in any search engine immediately to the shop."

Upon his father's doubtful look, he gave him a teasing grin. "It's either that or a Gold family website."

Gold pulled a face at the idea then something occurred to him. "Can you also include common misspellings of your name in the commands? I never actually spelled your name out for her."

Bae nodded. "Sure."

His father smiled. "Do it, Bae. It's a good idea. But I would like to take a look at it before it goes online."

The teenager nodded vigorously, pleased that he could be of help in his father's quest. "Of course. Shall I get your coat? What's for dinner tonight?"

"One day I'm going to teach you how to cook for yourself, Baelfire Gold," Gold grumbled and received a chuckle from the back of the shop.

A moment later he pulled on his gloves and made sure that his scarf was tightly wrapped around his neck, then the boy and his father exited the shop and Gold locked the door.

From the corner of his eye he saw that Bae already sprinted toward the other side of the waiting car and he shivered as a gust of wind blew icy rain into his face.

Turning around Gold cast a habitually look at the other side of the street. The days were growing longer but it had been a sombre afternoon with much rain and the light of the streetlamps already reflected on the glistening Main Street. Days like this he wondered why for heaven's sake he hadn't chosen to settle down on Hawaii instead.

As usual his gaze swept the streets when the headlights of a passing car illuminated the derelict building across from the street. It was a wooden building, about a hundred years old, which they considered ancient in this country, and actually quite iconic with its remarkable clock tower. But the building was boarded up, the clock was broken and nobody had noticeably been looking after it since he'd arrived in Storybrooke. The Storybrooke Public Library, that's what the townspeople called it though it hadn't been functioning as such for a very long time. The Widow Lucas had once said that there must still be a complete inventory inside.

As he stared at the building a sweet voice, dipped in a delicious Australian accent, gently nudged his thoughts.

'I would love to see more of the world, you see? Take up a new challenge, even if it's only in the next town. I could become a librarian somewhere else.'

A triumphant smile passed over his lips. And with the dilapidated building in view across the street he made his way over to his car. Suddenly he'd been presented with not one but two ways of finding Miss Australia. It was time to pay Mayor Mills a visit and remind her of one of her many unfulfilled election promises.

* * *

**A/N:** _Thanks so much for the reviews! I loved reading all of them. **NicoleMuenchSeidel** asked if these calls take place on weekends too. Actually, they don't and it's a pity because you're right, because during weekends neither Gold nor Belle would have to rush in the morning. And now I've even ended Gold's subscription! I'm such a mean person. It's highly probable that Gold and Belle would recognize each other's voices would they accidentally run into each other. Therefore, isn't it lovely to know they live so close to each other? The museum Bae went to was in Boston, Belle lives in Portland. My deepest apologies go to **Neferet25** that Gold was robbed of his opportunity to ask for Belle's number. I promise I make it up to you! Thank you so much, I**nkinmyheartandonthepage**! I hope you and **Rumbeller25** liked this chapter too. **Wondermorena**, you rock! We're totally ignoring OUAT's bold storytelling so they will do the bold thing and bring Bae back on board (after Rumple ripped Zelena to pieces of course). I hope you liked the bit of insight in Bae's thoughts in this chapter. Same goes for the lovely **Cynicsquest**. Wouldn't dar to think what it sounds like to butcher Robert Burns with a fake Scottish accent, hehe. And a very heartfelt thank you to the awesome **Raeymaeker**. You made me blush with your review. It's funny because my beta (the wonderful Delintthedarkone) loves the dialogue too so now she's being a truly wonderful beta by pushing me to write as much dialogue as possible :-). But I also love writing sceneries like my description of Gold spinning, so I'm really chuffed that you singled out that particular scene. I actually do know another person capable of capture the essence of Gold spinning and that's you, my dear. I've no experience with wake-up services myself. As far as I know there aren't any services outside of Russia and I think I actually know more words in Japanese than in Russian :-). Also, I'm much too shy for these things. I'm purely following my imagination on this one._

_Thanks so much for reading!_


End file.
